That year, he and Murong Chuyi were both still very young. One could even say they were immature and inexperienced.
He had no idea that this young man before him, who looked as though he might even be younger than himself, was actually his maternal uncle if one went by seniority. He thought this was some young master from a guest’s family who had secretly wandered into the courtyard to admire the flowers.
Murong Chuyi did not seem to be in a particularly good mood. He was absorbed in looking at the plum blossoms and did not notice that someone had approached from behind.
It was not until the corner of a blue oil-paper umbrella painted with cranes soaring among the clouds appeared above his head, shielding him from the snow and blocking his view of the flowers, that he was startled and abruptly turned around.
Jiang Yexue smiled faintly at him, adopting the manner of an older brother. “Which family are you from? Why aren’t you carrying an umbrella in such heavy snow?”
Murong Chuyi widened his eyes. He first took one step back, then another two. The expression on his face gradually changed from surprise to indifference.
He did not answer Jiang Yexue’s question, but instead said directly,
“…Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The question was blunt, crude, and impolite, and the other party clearly did not want to waste words with him either.
But Jiang Yexue had a good temper. Like a gentleman of jade, polished and refined, he had already grown accustomed to being tolerant and caring toward others despite his young age.
So he smiled. “My surname is Yue. My name is Yue Yexue. As for why I’m here… because this is my home. And this plum tree you’re looking at is also my favorite.”
For some reason, the other boy narrowed his eyes when he heard this.
“Oh? So you’re Yue Yexue, Xie Yilan’s child?”
Jiang Yexue was suddenly startled to hear such a young child directly call his mother by her name—and even get her name wrong. No matter how good his upbringing was, he could not help finding it both amusing and irritating.
He did not lose his temper, however. Instead, he reached out and pulled the boy over beneath his broad oil-paper umbrella, gently reprimanding him.
“Listen carefully. My mother’s name is Xie Lanyi, not Xie Yilan. Also, the snow is heavy. If you keep standing out here like an idiot, you’ll catch a chill. Come on, I’ll take you back to the reception hall to find your elders.”
But the other boy slapped his hand away without the slightest courtesy.
“Have you no manners? Do you know who you’re talking to?”
Jiang Yexue laughed helplessly. “You child…”
“Child?” Murong Chuyi removed the hood of his cloak and smoothed back his slightly disheveled bangs. He looked at him seriously, his pale lips opening and closing as he said earnestly, “Yue Yexue, I’m your maternal uncle.”
Jiang Yexue’s eyes widened.
“…”
After a moment, he burst out laughing and reached out to feel the boy’s forehead.
Still laughing, he said, “You… You must have frozen yourself stupid. You’ve got a fever, and it’s gone straight to your brain…?”
Jiang Yexue could no longer remember exactly how this farce had ended, nor could he recall all the little details. He only remembered that Murong Chuyi had left, quite displeased, with a flick of his sleeve.
Later, after the wedding banquet, when he accompanied his mother to pay his respects to the principal wife and serve her tea, he discovered that the boy beneath the plum tree was actually standing beside Murong Huang, looking at him with an indifferent expression.
Only then did he finally learn that this white-robed youth, who was around the same age as him, really was his maternal uncle.
His name was Murong Chuyi.
Although Murong Chuyi lived in the same residence as him, he normally disliked interacting with people. Seeing him three days out of ten was already extremely rare.
At first, Jiang Yexue had wanted to talk to him, but after repeatedly being met with cold rejection, he eventually gave up.
Mr. Song had taught him that the friendship between gentlemen was as light as water. He wholeheartedly sought to cultivate himself like bamboo, so since Murong Chuyi did not wish to associate with him too much, he would not force the matter.
But not everyone in this world was as peaceful and kind as his Master Song.
After Murong Huang married Yue Juntian, whether at home or outside, Jiang Yexue could keenly sense the change in people’s attitudes toward him.
The people who had once constantly followed him around, flattering and fawning over him, were the first to disappear. After that, even some of his elders no longer smiled at him as warmly as they once had.
He was kind by nature, but that did not mean he was oblivious.
He saw these things and understood perfectly well why they were happening.
However, he was gentle toward others and did not care much about honor, disgrace, gains, or losses, so he did not really mind.
The only thing that caused him some worry and distress was Lady Xie’s growing resentment.
She was always telling him how Yue Juntian had given Murong Huang this or that piece of jewelry that day, how much those pieces cost, how precious they were.
Or she would tell him how Murong Huang had dressed herself that day, what kind of clothes she had bought, and so on.
As more time passed, her words became increasingly unpleasant. Sometimes they were even unbearable to hear.
Jiang Yexue would frown slightly when he heard them, but because she was his mother, he could only sigh inwardly.
It was not as though he had never tried to comfort her.
But whenever he said something to enlighten her, she would glare at him and scold him, saying that he was “unambitious” and “didn’t understand hardship.”
Over time, Jiang Yexue could only stop saying much.
Later, Lady Xie’s jealousy and resentment toward Murong Huang grew increasingly severe.
And after Murong Huang became pregnant, her hatred twisted her expression almost beyond recognition.
Murong Huang was royalty and the principal wife. Everyone fawned over her as though they were plucking stars and moons from the sky for her.
The preferential treatment she received was something Lady Xie had never experienced, even when she had been pregnant with Jiang Yexue.
The servants were quick to follow the wind, and the difference in their attitudes toward the two mistresses of the household became increasingly obvious.
Even some of the young servants who had once received considerable care from Jiang Yexue began speaking to him in sarcastic, passive-aggressive tones.
Lady Xie was consumed by resentment and said to Jiang Yexue, “Look at this. You’re always talking about winning people over through virtue, about accepting whatever circumstances come your way. What people have you won over? And how well have you accepted your circumstances?”
Although Jiang Yexue felt somewhat uncomfortable inside, he still firmly believed that there was nothing wrong with the way he conducted himself.
It was easy to seek wealth and status. It was difficult to live without shame before one’s own conscience.
But gradually, even his father began distancing himself from him in order to accommodate Murong Huang’s feelings.
Apart from Mr. Song, there was no one left in the entire residence who was willing to approach him of their own accord.
It still hurt him, to some extent.
It was also in the late spring of that year that Mr. Song fell ill and became bedridden, temporarily unable to teach him the art of crafting magical artifacts.
Jiang Yexue therefore experimented on his own and made several ingenious devices.
But he had always respected and cared for his teacher and could not bear to disturb him while he was ill, so he took the devices he had made and went to seek guidance from the other artifact-crafting advisors in the household.
What he received, however, was nothing but avoidance and feigned helpless refusals.
“I’m sorry, Young Master Yexue, but I still have quite a few matters to attend to today.”
“I’m truly sorry, Young Master Yexue. I’m not feeling well. Once I’m better, I’ll discuss the art with you. How about that?”
“My skills are shallow and my knowledge limited. I’m afraid I’m not qualified to instruct you.”
He went through the entire residence asking one person after another, yet not a single one was willing.
Holding the wooden mechanical armor he had made, Jiang Yexue walked somewhat dejectedly through the empty corridor, his head lowered.
Just as he was at a loss, he suddenly heard someone call out from behind him.
“Yue Yexue.”
He turned around. His face still carried that unmistakable look of disappointment and sadness, but he found himself looking straight at Murong Chuyi.
His maternal uncle frowned slightly.
“What’s with that expression?”
As he spoke, he walked out from behind the arched gate, his white robes fluttering. He lowered his gaze to the mechanical armor in Jiang Yexue’s arms.
“You made these?”
“Mm.”
Murong Chuyi picked up one of the small water clocks and examined it carefully.
“Eastern pearl blood crystal for the sand, agarwood for the body… You came up with this yourself?”
Jiang Yexue was already aware of Murong Chuyi’s reputation in artifact crafting by then, so he answered somewhat awkwardly, “Yes.”
Murong Chuyi did not make fun of him.
He put down the little water clock and said,
“…Come to my artifact workshop. I’ll teach you.”
Jiang Yexue had never imagined that Murong Chuyi would actually be willing to take the initiative to guide him.
He could not help widening his eyes, standing there in a daze.
Murong Chuyi turned and walked ahead after saying that. After going some distance without hearing anything behind him, he calmly turned around.
“Are you not coming?”
“…Oh. Yes, yes, of course…”
The period that followed, until Yue Chenqing was born, could be considered the most fulfilling and happiest period of Jiang Yexue’s life.
Although Murong Chuyi was not much older than him, he was extraordinarily accomplished in the art of artifact crafting. He taught Jiang Yexue many techniques and secret methods of crafting magical artifacts that he had never even imagined before.
Between the two of them, Murong Chuyi had always done whatever he pleased and never cared about other people’s opinions.
He did not care in the slightest whether Jiang Yexue was popular or what position he held in the household.
And Jiang Yexue found in him the comfort of Boya and Ziqi—kindred spirits were hard to come by.
No matter what his mother said, he continued going to Murong Chuyi’s artifact workshop every day to see him.
Because of this, Lady Xie’s words became increasingly vicious, and her disappointment in him grew deeper and deeper.
She said he was “unfilial” and “always taking an outsider’s side.”
She even believed that Murong Chuyi had been sent by Murong Huang to drive a wedge between mother and son, and called him a “little bastard.”
Once, after Jiang Yexue stopped her from insulting Murong Chuyi, she flew into a tremendous rage at him.
From that point onward, she refused to speak to him anymore. She would not listen to any of his explanations, nor would she allow him to return to her separate residence.
Jiang Yexue had no intention of arguing with his mother, nor did he want to make such a commotion that other people would laugh at his mother.
So, with no other choice, he somewhat awkwardly asked Murong Chuyi if he could stay in his courtyard for the time being.
Murong Chuyi glanced around the courtyard at all the furnishings—
There was a set of Jiang Yexue’s knives, tools, and measuring instruments on the artifact-crafting table.
There was a stool that Jiang Yexue often sat on.
There were even some little decorative trinkets that Murong Chuyi did not like at all, but which Jiang Yexue habitually used, placed on the desk.
Murong Chuyi replied coldly, “Do you think it makes any difference whether you ask me or not?”
Jiang Yexue:
“…”
There were times when the two young men had nothing in particular to do.
Murong Chuyi was not as completely uninterested in other things as outsiders thought.
He would sometimes buy palm-sized bamboo warriors, the kind children on the street liked, then lazily recline on the bamboo couch and call Jiang Yexue over to battle with him using two of them.
But as they played, he would sometimes suddenly derive inspiration for a new magical artifact.
Then he would draw blueprints through the entire night, often lying on the floor with a ruler in his hand and simply falling asleep there.
After waking up, he would continue drawing.
And almost every time Murong Chuyi fell asleep, Jiang Yexue could not help looking at him a few more times.
How could this person be his maternal uncle?
He was clearly so young, so inexperienced.
When he fell asleep on the floor with a brush in his hand, he would often accidentally get ink from the tip of the brush on his face.
So silly.
Once, Murong Chuyi woke up halfway through his sleep, probably because he had dreamed of something.
Half-awake and half-asleep, he noticed Jiang Yexue watching him and asked somewhat impatiently,
“Why are you looking at me?”
Jiang Yexue’s voice was so gentle that even he himself was somewhat surprised.
Smiling, he said softly, “I’m looking at my little uncle. I think you look very dignified.”
Murong Chuyi probably did not understand his joke at all.
Or perhaps he simply had not heard what Jiang Yexue was saying.
He only gave a low hum.
His long eyelashes fluttered, and he fell asleep again.
Jiang Yexue remembered that it was then, while looking at him, that he developed a certain obscure and terrifying impulse.
That impulse made him shudder with fear, and he even wanted to turn around and flee.
At that time, he did not dare to think about it too deeply.
If he had, he would probably have thought himself utterly sinful.
Even if they were not related by blood, even if Murong Chuyi was merely an abandoned child picked up by Murong Huang, his position was still what it was.
If he had such feelings toward Murong Chuyi, how could he possibly call himself a gentleman?
And so, in a dazed and anxious state, several more months passed.
Then Murong Huang went into labor.
With the resounding cry of a newborn baby, two people in this illustrious family fell into hell from that moment onward.
One was his mother, Lady Xie—
Because the Yue household had welcomed its true heir: a male child born to the principal wife.
Yue Juntian named him Chenqing.
Chenqing. Chenqing…
Murong Huang’s son was one of light, signifying clear skies stretching for thousands of miles and the rising sun.
But what was her child?
A vast blanket of white snow in the long night.
No matter how magnificent it had once been, with thousands of miles of mountains and rivers transformed into a world dressed in white, once the sun rose, it would all melt away.
Nothing would remain.
How could she not be heartbroken?
How could she not resent it?
And the other person who fell into hell was Murong Chuyi—
Because Murong Huang died in childbirth, he had abruptly lost the “older sister” and “mother” who had adopted him and given him a second life.
He had no benefactor left.