Chapter 101
Before stepping out into the world, Cao Xun turned to his sons, six-year-old Cao Yu and little three-year-old Cao Bing, his tone firm yet tender. âListen to your mother,â he commanded, his gaze locking with theirs. âDonât dare cause her trouble.â The air crackled with authority, leaving no room for argument.
Cao Yu, wise beyond his years, held tightly to this memory. He also remembered that same evening vividlyâthe setting sun casting golden streaks across the courtyard as he and his baby brother, fresh from an afternoon of play, gathered for the evening meal. Seated near their mother, Cao Bingâs curiosity surfaced like a ripple in still water. "Mom, where is Father?" his small voice chimed, cutting through the calm.
Yunzhu, caught off guard, paused only briefly before her lips curved into a smile, masking her surprise. âHeâs gone to the border to fight,â she explained, her voice smooth and steady. âDid Bing'er forget already?â
The boy blinked, realization dawning on his innocent face. He nodded, flashing a toothy smile, then quietly settled into his seat, his energy dissolving into obedience as the food arrived.
Yunzhu exhaled, her heart releasing its tension. A childâs memory, she mused, was fleeting. They grasped so little of what it meant to yearn for someone. Still, her gaze lingered on her youngest, knowing full well that if she were to leave, those same tiny hands would reach for her, tears flooding his wide eyes.
âMother, do you miss Father?â Cao Yuâs voice broke through her reverie, his tone mature and steady, a young man in a childâs body.
Reaching out, Yunzhu ran her fingers gently through his hair, her voice dipping into tenderness. âI have my thoughts,â she murmured, âbut your father is a general. His duty is to protect the border. All I can hope is that he remains safe and fends off the enemies.â
Cao Yuâs chest puffed with pride, his belief in his father unshakable. âDonât worry, Mother. Father is strong. Heâll win.â
Dinner passed, the boys retreating to their shared room. While one eagerly immersed himself in the rudiments of study and combat, the other, drained from his endless antics, collapsed into slumber. Their innocence, their routine, filled the house with a fragile kind of comfort.
But for Yunzhu, the nights stretched endlessly. Alone in her bed, the vast emptiness beside her seemed to taunt her. Her mind conjured visions of Cao Xunâhis broad shoulders, his smirk, the way he used to pull her close, his warmth wrapping around her like armor against the cold.
Clutching her quilt, she forced her eyes shut, her resolve wavering as the nights gnawed at her spirit. The daylight brought distractionsâmanaging her sons, balancing household ledgers, enduring family visitsâbut the quiet of the dark hours left her vulnerable to the ache of missing him. How many nights would she lie awake, tracing the contours of a man who was always just out of reach?
And yet, life had a rhythm, one she had no choice but to embrace. Time, like a slow-moving stream, carried her forward. By mid-June, that monotony was broken. A letter arrivedâa small, tangible piece of him.
Hereâs the text translated and rephrased as requested:
The family letter, secured tightly in a waterproof cowhide pouch, was passed to Yunzhu by Manager Zhang. He had made sure to reward the postman generously for delivering it in record time. In Manager Zhangâs presence, Yunzhu remained cool, poised, and dignifiedâevery inch the composed lady. But the moment he was gone, unbothered by the teasing giggles of the maids, she swiftly carried the pouch to her private chamber. With a determined grace, she seated herself by the window, her fingers quick to pull the envelope free from the pouch. The wax seal glistened under the light, marked with Cao Xun's authoritative âDuke Dingguoâ emblem.
Breaking the seal directly? Oh no, that was too much. Instead, Yunzhu fetched a paper-knife, her movements deliberate, slicing through the seal bit by tantalizing bit until the envelope gave way.
Inside, three sheets of letter paper waited for her.
The first two pages were a crowded sea of words. Cao Xunâs updates poured out: his daily routines on the journey, safely removed from the bloody truths of war. No battlefield secrets hereâthat wouldâve been reckless. If this letter fell into the wrong hands, it could cost him dearly, maybe even an accusation of treason.
He mentioned how heâd just reached the border. Most of his time was spent hunkered down in camp, strategizing the next moves. He hadnât even stepped onto the battlefield himself yet. Still, he spared a moment to share some welcome newsâLi Yao and Li Xian had notched victories, a glimmer of comfort for her to hold onto.
After assuring Yunzhu of his safety, he casually asked how she was faring at home. Were the children behaving? Any mischief worth mentioning?
But through all those words, not a single whisper of affection. Not even the faintest hint of longing or love. No âI miss you.â No âIâm thinking of you.â Nothing.
Yunzhu read the news, her face a mix of relief and disappointment. Yes, she was glad he was safe, but where were the words she craved? Where was the proof that she lingered in his thoughts? The absence cut deep, her discontent etched plainly across her face.
And thenâshe unfolded the last piece of paper.
This one was different. Another flood of words, yes, but not the usual formalities. No, this was a record of the mundane moments from his journey.
âMay 9th, late at night: First night away from Beijing. I wonder if the young lady has fallen asleep.
May 10th, noon: The cookâs pancakes are like bricks. I can already see the little ladyâs face scrunching up at the taste.
May 11th, night: The bed here is wide. Too wide. Itâd be just right if the young lady were lying next to me.â
...
It was the night of June 10th, and the air buzzed with the weight of unspoken words. The letter in Yunzhuâs hand could only hold so much. "Iâll send it out tomorrow," she told herself, though she knew there wasnât much left to add. Still, she picked up the third piece of paper, unwilling to stop, searching for more to say.
The meticulous records of an entire month stared back at herâlines written with care, each one betraying the passage of days through the varying shades of ink. Cao Xun had poured himself into this. Each spare moment, a thought, a note scribbled on that special stationery.
He never outright said he missed her. Instead, his words spoke of pastries, a roadside wildflower, the mundane details made tender by his unspoken yearning. He didnât need to say itâhis longing was there in every word, palpable and sharp.
Yet as Yunzhu read, her chest tightened. Sheâd grown used to his absence, or so she thought, but his words unraveled her. Emptiness clawed at her, pain tightening its grip. She wanted himâneeded himâto come back, to hold her. To ground herself, she decided to write him back.
The next day, during lunch, the children came bustling in. Yunzhu handed the first two pages to Cao Yu, instructing him to read them to his younger brother.
Cao Yu, already sharp at seven, had been learning to read since he was three. He worked his way through the letter, pausing only to ask his mother about the characters he didnât recognize. Cao Bing, on the other hand, was too young to care. His world revolved around games and his ever-present mother. Fathers and uncles were distant figures.
But Cao Yu was different. When he read his fatherâs questionsâquestions about him and his brotherâhis small face crumpled, tears welling silently. Yunzhu couldnât help but laugh softly, even as her heart ached for him.
"Donât worry," she said, brushing a hand over his head. "Iâll write a reply to your father this afternoon. If you want to add something, you can write it, too."
Cao Bing piped up, brimming with enthusiasm. "I want to write to Daddy, too!"
Cao Yu, the ever-reliable older brother, promised, "Tell me what you want to say, and Iâll write it for you."
The two of them ran off to Cao Yuâs study, their chatter fading as they disappeared down the hall.
Yunzhu let them go, leaving them to craft their messages in their own way. Instead, she focused on her own reply. She called for the maids to prepare the ink and sat down, pen in hand, ready to write.
The day-to-day events were easy enough to recount. Within minutes, sheâd filled three pages. But the part that mattered mostâthe part about missing Cao Xunâstopped her cold.
How could she put such raw, personal feelings into words? What if the letter fell into the wrong hands? Her heart screamed for him, but the words refused to take shape. Trying to mirror his understated tenderness only reminded her how much she fell short. His quiet, deliberate notes stretched across ten days, while she struggled to say anything that felt real.
In the end, Yunzhu gave up. She slipped a piece of jewelry into the envelope, sealing it alongside her letter. It wasnât much, but it would have to do.
*
The mail from the border to the capital moved faster than expectedâjust five or six daysâand Cao Xun got a letter from his lady. There were three envelopes in total: the heaviest one for him, a medium-sized one for Li Xian, and the thinnest for Li Yao.
Cao Xun couldnât help but smirk, recognizing the clear divide between how the lady viewed her brothers. She had no patience for Li Yao, he thought. Writing long letters was probably too much for someone like him, rough around the edges.
After sending off the letters for Li Yao and Li Xian, Cao Xun settled in his luxurious tent to finally open the letter from his beloved. The weight of the envelope told him it wasnât just one letterâinside were several notes from Cao Yu and Cao Bing, with Cao Bingâs letters being the longest and most irritating, full of nagging.
But Cao Xun wasnât bothered by them. He read through them with amusement, even though they held little real value. He was ready for what came next.
Then, he got to Yunzhuâs letter. He read it slowly, savoring every word. Each sentence was like a gift, and he didnât rush through them. But after reading three pages, he realized there wasnât a single word of affection. A small pang of disappointment hit him, though he wasnât shocked. The lady had grown up spoiled, used to others fawning over her. Sheâd never been one for words of love, always preferring to be the one adored. Still, just having a letter from her made him feel good.
Curious about the unusually thick envelope, he put the letter down and felt around inside. There it was, wrapped in a silk handkerchief. He unraveled it and found a peony hairpin made of blue-and-white jade, shimmering like the clarity of her skin, delicate and beautiful.
Cao Xunâs grip tightened on the hairpin. This was the same one heâd given her back in April, just before the peonies bloomed in the garden. Sheâd loved it then, pinning it into her hair and asking for his opinion. Heâd wrapped her in his arms, kissed her, and when the kiss ended, the hairpin was still in her hair, but he remembered loosening it deliberately, letting it fall. He didnât want it to stay.
Now, holding it again, he felt a rush of memories and a tight ache in his chest.
And yet, he knew. If he sent this hairpin now, his wife would be just as displeased as she had been before. That constant, familiar tension was always there.
In the heat of mid-July, Yunzhu received yet another letter from her husband.
It was in the same familiar style as the lastâtwo pages of his thoughts, followed by one page of a story.
One page, in particular, caught her eye.
The night of June 16th: "Holding a hosta in my hand, I tossed and turned in bed, wishing I could keep at it, locked in a wild battle that would last until the third watch."
Yunzhu smirked first, then felt a flush spread across her face.
No, this message from Cao Xun was clearly aimed at her. He wouldn't switch topics just to mention some battle. No, his wordsââengage in a fervent battle until the third watchââhad to be loaded with some deeper, far naughtier meaning. It was downright improper. Unmistakably so.
She couldnât help but think back to those nights, their nights, when theyâd foughtâuntil long after midnight.
But who was he talking about?
She could only sigh, wanting so badly to tell him she missed him, but feeling far too shy to say it outright. Instead, she sent him the peony hairpin heâd once gifted herâan intimate, subtle hint. Yet, somehow, she couldnât quite shake the feeling that this dignified, broad-minded Cao Xun was teasing her back.
When Cao Xun got her next letter, there were no gifts, no trinkets, just four simple words at the bottom of the last page: "Old and naughty."
She mustâve gritted her teeth when she wrote that. The words carried a sharp, delicate biteâlike a beautyâs teasing scold, full of frustration and desire.
Cao Xun lay on his bed, the letter pressed to his chest, sighing deeply as he stared up at the dark ceiling of his tent.
Old? Why did she add "old" to it? Wasn't he enough of a devil in her eyes without it?
Still, when had she not cried, teased, scolded, and coaxed him? Always expecting him to come back, always relying on the fact that he wasnât around.
The next day, Cao Xun led his troops into battle, slaying six Hu generals in one fell swoop. The morale of his men soared, and the Hu were so outmatched they threw down their helmets and armor in surrender.
Good news followed, and his family letter went straight to the capital.
It arrived at Dingguo mansion, where Yunzhu unfolded it. On the third page, in bold, silver-inked strokes, were two words that caught her breath: "I'm old?"
She felt her cheeks burn, her body weaken from the sheer power behind those words. Cao Xunâs voiceâsharp, demandingâstruck her like a bolt of lightning.