HMHSE - 40

The official relay station in Chang’an was where visiting officials stayed. Late into the night, the bathhouse still had lights on.

With a splash, Shan Zong lifted his head from the copper basin, wiping away droplets of water. Only then did he feel that the lingering traces of alcohol had dissipated.

Freshly bathed, he loosely wore an undergarment and dried his face with a towel, casually brushing his lips as he silently smirked. He threw on his outer robe, still damp, and exited the bathhouse.

Outside, the cold wind was strong. Due to the grand celebration of the Emperor’s birthday, the relay station was unusually lively tonight. Officials from various regions were drinking and reveling, their quarters brightly lit, accompanied by the sounds of music.

As Shan Zong approached the guest rooms, a woman who had been dismissed from entertaining emerged just as he passed by.

Her heavy perfume hit his nose, mingled with her soft tone: “Esteemed sir, do you need company?”

The woman had seen a tall, handsome man approaching—his wet hair loose and draped in Hu-style attire—and thought she could earn more. Upon closer inspection, his features were striking, and his disheveled clothing seemed like an invitation. Her eyes lit up as she leaned in flirtatiously.

Shan Zong raised a hand to block her, a faint smile on his lips: “Scram.”

The woman started, noticing the exposed arm he used to block her. A large, blotchy tattoo covered it, frightening her pale. She turned and fled without looking back.

As if nothing had happened, Shan Zong entered his room, slammed the door shut, and sat on the bed. Removing his outer robe, he noticed the creases on his collar.

Memories of the narrow alleyway returned—their reckless intimacy when he kissed her too forcefully.

His lips curled upward. He believed he had shown enough restraint throughout this journey. Except for Pei Yuanling, who knew him all too well, no one else could have noticed anything. Yet, in the end, provoked by her, he hadn’t been able to hold back.

The flickering lamplight illuminated his right arm, revealing the patchwork of tattoos. He extinguished the light, thinking in the darkness: This time, Changsun Rong would probably call him a “bad seed” again.

…

Early in the morning, Shen Rong sat by the window, slowly examining herself in the mirror. Seeing no trace left on her lips, she quietly reassured herself.

Last night, her lips had been red and swollen, as though scorched by boiling water. She didn’t know how much force Shan Zong had used—it felt as if she owed him something.

Unable to resist, she cursed him once more in her heart: “Bad seed.” Then she rose and moved away from the dressing table.

Zi Rui waited outside. Seeing her emerge, she hesitantly asked: “Young Mistress, are you going to pay respects to Lady Pei? You didn’t sleep well last night—perhaps rest a little longer? Lady Pei dotes on you; she won’t mind.”

Shen Rong’s eyes flickered. Not wanting her mother to notice anything unusual, she nodded: “I’ll go.”

Lady Pei resided in the main courtyard.

As Shen Rong walked through the corridor, she saw her mother emerging from the courtyard in the distance.

Lady Pei wore a dignified ochre-colored skirt, walking briskly with only two personal maidservants trailing behind. Unaware of Shen Rong’s presence, she headed straight toward another part of the estate.

Shen Rong paused to watch. Suddenly, two soft coughs sounded behind her. Turning around, she saw Changsun Xin standing there.

“Arong, do you know where Mother went?” he whispered mysteriously.

Shen Rong shook her head: “I was about to ask. Do you know?”

“Of course—I’m the only one who does,” Changsun Xin glanced around and beckoned her closer.

Approaching, Shen Rong listened as he whispered a few words. She was immediately astonished.

After finishing, Changsun Xin muttered in frustration: “Indeed, nothing good comes from that fellow being in Chang’an!”

Shen Rong had already set off in the direction her mother had gone.

In the front hall’s courtyard, several soldiers clad in armor stood. Though unarmed, their presence lent a stern atmosphere to the lush flower beds in the corner.

By the time Shen Rong arrived, she had already noticed them—they were from the Shan family’s army.

She walked to the other side of the corridor near the window and peered inside.

An unfamiliar visitor now sat in the hall.

It was a middle-aged woman dressed in a flowing purple silk robe with overlapping collars. Her delicate features and gentle demeanor reminded Shen Rong of Shan Zhao.

This was Shan Zong’s mother.

Changsun Xin followed, standing beside her and whispering: “I didn’t expect anyone from the Shan family to visit.”

How could Shen Rong have anticipated it, let alone that it would be his mother?

Changsun Xin glanced twice, surprised: “Even Shan Ying is here.”

Shen Rong noticed a young woman standing behind Shan Zong’s mother. Dressed in a round-collared robe with her hair tied up, she appeared in male attire—this was Shan Zong’s cousin, Shan Ying.

Lady Pei sat at the head of the hall, untouched tea by her side. She gazed at the visitors, having already exchanged a few words. Her expression revealed neither joy nor anger: “Lady Yang, what brings you here?”

Shan Zong’s mother hailed from the prestigious Hongnong Yang clan and had been bestowed the title of Lady Yang by the previous Emperor.

She smiled softly: “My visit to Duke Zhao’s residence naturally means I wish to see Shen Rong.”

Lady Pei frowned instantly. Even those eavesdropping outside, like Changsun Xin, hadn’t expected Lady Yang to be so forthright. A soft sigh escaped her lips.

But Shen Rong wasn’t surprised. Despite her gentle appearance, Lady Yang was known for her straightforwardness and lack of pretense.

Shen Rong thought about why Lady Yang would want to see her—there was no reason for such a meeting.

Lady Pei voiced the question for her: “Lady Yang, what reason do you have to see my daughter? Since your son and our family have already divorced, there is no one in the Zhao residence for the Shan family to meet.”

Lady Yang paused: “You’re right—I know I have no face to show, but our entire Shan family has never acknowledged the divorce. Shen Rong will always be the eldest daughter-in-law of our household.”

Lady Pei’s expression hardened slightly, though she remained composed: “Lady Yang, such words should not be spoken again. If your eldest son has no interest, what use are these words now, years later?”

Lady Yang looked at her, unwavering: “Knowing the anger I would face, I still came here. Without sincerity, I wouldn’t have dared to visit. Both of us know that Shen Rong and my son were meant to be a perfect pair—they should never have divorced.”

Lady Pei furrowed her brows, her voice rising slightly: “Even so, three years have passed. Isn’t it too late for the Shan family to bring this up now?”

Lady Yang sighed, her voice lowering: “Lady Pei loves her daughter deeply, and I, too, worry for my son. These three years, he hasn’t been with the Shan family. Even if we reconcile with Shen Rong at your residence, would you have her live as a widow in our household? Naturally, we must wait for him to return before we dare to visit.”

Lady Pei froze, then asked: “Who has returned?”

Outside, Shen Rong immediately sensed trouble. Changsun Xin gave her a quick glance and stepped into the hall.

“Mother,” he approached hurriedly, smiling as he supported Lady Pei: “I’ve been looking for you.”

But Lady Pei wasn’t easily deceived. She raised her hand to stop his words, focusing on Lady Yang: “Who did you say has returned?”

Changsun Xin inwardly groaned.

Lady Yang exchanged a glance with Shan Ying behind her. Judging Lady Pei’s expression, they understood. Before they could speak, someone rushed toward the hall’s entrance.

Shen Rong, standing outside the hall and frowning, also noticed. A soldier from the Shan family knelt at the entrance, reporting: “Lady Yang, the eldest master requests an audience outside.”

Lady Yang turned, incredulous: “Who?”

Without waiting for an answer, she exited the hall, with Shan Ying following closely.

Lady Pei stood abruptly: “Did I hear wrong? Who did he say was seeking an audience?”

Changsun Xin quickly steadied her arm: “Mother must have misheard. The Shan family no longer has an eldest master. Don’t worry—I’ll send someone to investigate.” He called out: “Hurry and check!”

Shen Rong lifted her skirt and walked outside.

The Shan family members swiftly departed, leaving none behind.

Reaching the estate’s gates, Shen Rong saw the Shan soldiers already far ahead. Lady Yang, supported by Shan Ying, was looking around anxiously, calling out: “Zong’er?”

There was no sign of Shan Zong.

Zi Rui followed behind.

Wanting to reassure her mother, Shen Rong instructed: “Send someone to the front hall with a message—say the Shan family made a mistake. No one is here.”

Zi Rui obeyed and left.

Shen Rong took a few steps outside the gate, glancing toward the retreating Lady Yang. She grew smaller in the distance but continued searching, even attempting to mount a horse. If Shan Ying hadn’t been supporting her and quietly consoling her, she might have ridden off in search of him.

“Zong’er?” Her voice carried a hint of suppressed tears. At this moment, she wasn’t the esteemed Lady Yang of the Shan family—just a mother longing to see her son.

But how could she know that her son was currently in Chang’an?

Shen Rong watched silently until their group disappeared into the distance.

Suddenly, she felt someone else watching from across the way. Her gaze shifted, but no one was there.

“Young Mistress,” Dong Lai appeared from the side of the gate, handing her a piece of yellow hemp paper.

Shen Rong unfolded it. Two bold, unattributed characters greeted her.

After a moment’s thought, she instructed Dong Lai: “Prepare the carriage—I need to go out.”

…

At the relay station, the troops from Youzhou’s military post had already packed their belongings and lined up, awaiting departure.

Shan Zong rode back, dismounted, scanned the ranks, and headed for his room.

The room was already tidied. Like a soldier, he had brought little to Chang’an—just a few sets of military attire.

As he reached for his sword, the sound of carriage wheels echoed outside. A carriage had stopped beyond the relay station’s gates.

Hearing it, Shan Zong grabbed his sword and stepped out, opening the door just as the woman arrived at the entrance.

Shen Rong, her long skirt trailing behind her, her arm draped in light gauze, walked slowly toward him.

Shan Zong lowered his head; she raised hers. Their gazes met instantly.

Then Shen Rong’s eyes shifted, breaking contact first.

Shan Zong’s gaze lingered on her face, a faint smile playing on his lips as he stepped back.

Shen Rong entered, stopping to say: “You led your mother away.”

It wasn’t a question—it was a statement.

Shan Zong chuckled: “You helped me avoid her once; I helped you avoid her once. Isn’t that fair?”

He had anticipated this day. When Shan Zhao sent news of his return to the Shan family, his mother, knowing he had returned with Shen Rong, attempted to intercept him outside Luoyang but failed. Naturally, she would rush to Chang’an.

Everything unfolded as he predicted.

Shen Rong inwardly confirmed it. That person who had been watching Lady Yang earlier—it was him.

He had truly been present but still avoided meeting his mother.

“Still heartless,” she murmured.

Shan Zong’s lips twitched, but no smile formed.

A man treating his own mother this way was indeed heartless. He had no defense.

Only then did Shen Rong notice the state of the room and the sword in his hand. Understanding dawned: “You’re leaving.”

The yellow hemp paper bore only two words: Don’t worry.

She recognized it as his handwriting, finding it strange and coming to investigate. Now she realized he was departing.

Shan Zong watched her, his voice dropping unconsciously: “I intended to tell you, but we already said goodbye last night.”

The mention of “last night” drew her gaze. She first noticed his thin lips.

Instantly, the memory of his shadow pressing against her in the dark alley, the lantern light outside, and the street’s clamor came vividly to life. She could almost feel the pressure of his kiss on her lips.

Unconsciously, she pursed her lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and glanced sidelong at him. “That was your farewell?” she laughed softly: “Leaving now makes it seem like you’re running. Last night, you didn’t appear so cowardly.”

Shan Zong immediately raised his eyes, laughing despite himself: “Are you saying I’m a coward now?”

Suddenly, he moved forward, striding directly toward her.

Shen Rong froze as he closed in, advancing until he pressed against her body.

She retreated, but he pursued, step by step, until her back hit the edge of the table. Supporting herself, she looked up, only to meet his approaching face.

Their noses nearly touched, breaths mingling.

Shen Rong’s gaze fell on his thin lips, her eyes involuntarily shifting. Her hand on the table tightened.

Shan Zong leaned close to her face, his gaze fixed on her expression, his voice deepening: “If you’re not a coward, then promise you’ll never go to Youzhou again. Otherwise…”

Shen Rong steadied her breathing: “Otherwise what?”

Shan Zong slowly brushed his nose against hers, a smirk forming as his voice grew deeper, whispering into her ear.

Their noses touched, her breath hitching. Suddenly, the weight on her eased as he straightened and strode outside.

The horses whinnied outside, the soldiers responding to his command. As Shen Rong’s breathing steadied, only the fading sound of hooves remained.