Chapter 69
When the envoys from the Huai'an Marquis Mansion came to announce the funeral, Cao Xun was still wide awake.
Liu Jing wouldn't have sent word so early if it weren't for the deeply woven ties between Cao Xun and Zhang Xingjian. Zhang Tai, the general manager-trusted and sharp-eyed-delivered the news himself.
Outwardly, Cao Xun was the very picture of an elder brother: calm, steady, unshakable. Yunzhu and Cao Shao always saw him that way, but Zhang Tai? He'd watched Cao Xun grow-watched that boy with delicate red lips and snow-white teeth harden into an unyielding heir, a man carved by time and discipline.
Memories lingered in Zhang Tai's mind: the day Zhang Xingjian barreled in with roast chicken, an air of chaos swirling around him. That search for the eldest son, the whispered suspicions of adults-they all knew. Zhang Xingjian had left with Cao Xun to rescue another wayward friend, the kind of reckless escapade that reeked of youth and loyalty.
And now, the departure of such a son-a lauded general no less-felt like a blow to the chest. Zhang Tai's heart sank as his gaze drifted toward Duke Dingguo, a lone figure standing somberly beneath the corridor eaves.
But Cao Xun didn't falter. Steady as stone, he met Zhang Tai's eyes and issued his orders with an unsettling clarity: "Prepare for the funeral ceremony. Ready the carriage."
Zhang Tai opened his mouth to offer words of comfort but found himself empty. Cao Xun's composure had shut him down. He was unreadable.
Then, as if reading Zhang Tai's thoughts, Cao Xun's voice cut through the silence-low and firm, laced with something that bordered on finality: "He was prepared for this long ago. There's no reason to be surprised."
With that, he turned, retreating to the backyard, leaving Zhang Tai frozen in place, worry digging deeper into the creases of his brow.
The backyard, oblivious to the world beyond, remained unshaken. The maids bustled, immersed in their routines. The return of the master-composed, yet brimming with unspoken weight-went unnoticed. Cao Xun made his way straight to the inner room.
She was there, still lost in the depths of slumber, behind the soft veil of gauzy curtains. He moved with quiet deliberation to the window and settled himself. The tea set caught his eye-a simple comfort in a room alive with faint warmth.
He poured himself tea, steam curling lazily into the air, the fragrant heat brushing against his face. The memory of a dream lingered, vivid and indulgent.
His friend, having crossed the grasslands, had found his way back-wild and alive, reunited with a wife who waited all those long years. And still, the man longed for those untamed plains. The scent of wind and earth, the thrill of horses pounding across endless horizons, the kind of freedom that felt impossible now. That journey had been his farewell-one final ride to drink, to shout, to revel in his youth one last time.
Cao Xun sighed faintly, lips curving into the shadow of a smile. The truth was, he hadn't cared much for his friend's rugged, wind-torn face. He preferred the younger version-unburdened, sharp, and spirited.
Yunzhu stirred. She woke late, a half-hour past her usual time, the soft hush of midnight wrapping around her. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she glimpsed the room beyond-empty, save for a lone silhouette.
Cao Xun sat by the window, a quiet fortress of a man, veiled in the thin haze of gauze and shadows.
As the three-day Mid-Autumn Festival holiday kicked off for the officials, there was no reason for him to be at the office-it was an unspoken given. The autumn air was crisp and dry, sharp enough to parch your throat after a few glasses of fruit wine shared with Liu Jing and the others. And for Yunzhu, the dryness had settled like an itch she couldn't scratch.
She turned her attention to Cao Xun, a faint sense of resignation curling through her chest. It was the dynamic they'd settled into-one she didn't fight, didn't question, didn't even particularly mind. Cao Xun took her orders as naturally as breathing, and she delivered them with ease. Theirs was an unspoken rhythm, smooth and frictionless. Love? She didn't bother entertaining the thought. She wasn't looking for it anyway.
"I'm thirsty. Bring me some water," she murmured, parting the curtain with the kind of casual authority that suggested she expected to be obeyed.
On the table sat a pot of tea alongside a pot of warmed water. Cao Xun, as quietly efficient as ever, swapped the tea bowl and poured her water before carrying it to the bedside.
Yunzhu had already pushed herself upright by the time he reached her, but something snagged her attention-something about his face. It wasn't his usual calm, jade-soft expression. No, he looked off. The color had drained from him, leaving his features paler than they should've been.
She took a slow sip, her gaze narrowing. "How much did you drink last night?" she asked, sharp yet faintly curious.
Cao Xun gave her a small smile-a smile that did nothing to reassure her-and, once she'd emptied the bowl, reached out to touch her head, his tone soft but unyielding. "Xing Jian passed this morning. Get yourself ready. You'll come with me to pay our respects."
The words hit like a rock in her chest. The tea bowl slipped, her fingers relaxing on instinct, but Cao Xun caught it effortlessly, steady as ever. "It's all right," he said, voice quiet but firm, as though trying to tether her to the moment. "I knew this was coming. Don't let it weigh too heavily."
But it did. Yunzhu's heart dropped, a dull ache settling in its place.
Zhang Xingjian's condition had been no secret to anyone who'd laid eyes on him, but to see someone alive and conversing one night only to hear of their passing by morning-there was no preparing for the weight of that. It tugged, heavy and raw, at anyone with a pulse.
For Cao Xun, though, Xingjian had been more than a distant acquaintance; he'd been a friend. And yet here he was, calm and collected, offering her comfort like it was just another day.
"When did the messengers come? Why didn't you wake me earlier?" Her voice was sharper now, driven by a restless urgency. Without waiting for his answer, Yunzhu swung out of bed, pulling out mourning-appropriate robes and calling for Lian Qiao and the others to bring water.
Cao Xun watched her with that quiet intensity of his, letting her move at her frenetic pace until he stepped in, a hand catching her arm as she was about to storm out. "Eat something first," he said, his voice low but firm. "You'll be there all day. If you go without food, you'll regret it."
But Yunzhu wasn't having it. "I'm not hungry. Let's go."
She barely gave him room to argue before heading to the front yard, where Cao Shao was already waiting, draped in a dark gray muslin robe that seemed to swallow the light around him. His expression was solemn, heavier than his young years. He turned to Cao Xun, his voice respectful but steady, expressing his intent to pay his respects to the Marquis.
Yunzhu paused for just a moment, taking it all in. The war hadn't just claimed soldiers on the battlefield-it had left its scars everywhere. Some men had limped back, broken but breathing, only to find their lives reduced to echoes of what they once were. Commendations and pensions couldn't replace limbs or honor lost in silence. Others, like Zhang Xingjian, had been bright and fierce-a blaze of glory that burned too fast, too hot, until all that was left was smoke.
And as Yunzhu stood there, the weight of it all wrapped itself around her like a too-tight cloak-uncomfortable, inescapable, and cold.
Despite carving out a life as a civil servant, Cao Shao couldn't shake his longing for the warriors on the battlefield. Deep down, he still burned to honor the memory of a young general taken far too soon. Beside him, Cao Xun-stoic as always-nodded in quiet resolve. "Let's go."
The decision made, Cao Xun swung onto a horse, taking Cao Shao along with him.
Zhang Tai and Yunzhu barely had a chance to offer their sympathies before Cao Shao urged his brother, "You need to extend your condolences."
Cao Xun, ever composed and guarded, gave a steady reply. "Don't worry, I'm fine."
But Cao Shao said nothing in return. His silence was heavy, his mind spinning.
Fine? No. That was a lie. He knew better.
Even if Xie Lang had once been his rival in love, the thought of him suddenly gone? It would wreck him. He'd sob like a broken man. And this wasn't just some fleeting acquaintance-it was the Marquis of Huai'an, a brotherly bond that ran deep.
Cao Shao stared at his brother's unnerving calm. What words could possibly cut through that cold, collected mask? None. It would be pointless.
Yunzhu caught fragments of the brothers' exchange, and it dragged her back to a bitter moment of her own-when her grandfather lost his fight against illness. The quiet that fell. Her mother falling mute. Her father breaking into sobs. Even her brother-usually so strong, unshakable-had choked on his grief and wiped his tears where no one could see.
Cao Xun might not cry the way others did, but something in his face was still cracked, frayed at the edges.
The Marquis of Huai'an's mansion loomed ahead before long.
By the time Yunzhu and the others arrived, the grounds were already heavy with grief, crowded with mourners who had come before them. Familiar faces stood out-Gu Qinghe and his wife Zhao Shi, Li Yong and his wife, Gu Min. Gu Min, shattered, clung to his mother Zhao Shi, his sobs tearing through the air.
Then Yunzhu's eyes landed on Liu Jing, draped in stark white mourning clothes, struggling to breathe through his tears. Next to him, the heir, Zhang Hu, wailed like a man utterly lost.
The sight struck Yunzhu hard, and in that sharp moment, she couldn't hold back. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She barely knew him, this young general who had fallen-but she knew his kindness. A man like that deserved more than tears. He deserved a place remembered forever.
*
The Zhang family was small, almost suffocatingly so. Zhang Xingjian had no brothers, no uncles to speak of, and Liu Jing's family was so far away they might as well have lived on the moon.
Cao Xun and Gu Qinghe, always dutiful and accompanied by their wives, chose to stay close, ready to offer their quiet strength through the turmoil.
For the three long days of the Mid-Autumn Festival, the two couples practically moved into the Zhang household. The nights belonged to Cao Xun and Gu Qinghe, who sat up until dawn with Zhang Hu, the weight of shared grief pressing them into silence. Daytime was filled with hosting male guests, leaving Yunzhu with little to no chance to steal moments with Cao Xun.
Then, on the early morning of August 17th, Zhang Xingjian was buried, his wife and children's raw, gut-wrenching cries piercing the chilled air.
On the way back to the city, Liu Jing sat quietly in her carriage with Zhao shi and Yunzhu, her face pale and weary, yet strikingly composed. Tuantuan, oblivious to the world's sharp edges, tapped her small fingers against the window, babbling nonsense with a child's perfect indifference.
Liu Jing pressed a damp handkerchief to her face, trying to soothe the redness around her swollen eyes. Her voice was soft, almost like velvet, but steady. "Thank you both for staying with me these days. Your presence let me cry as much as I needed to. This is just a season, a hard one, but one I was ready for. Once the tears are out of my system, I'll pull myself together, raise my children, and move on from what's behind me."
Zhao shi, with her maternal warmth, pulled Tuantuan close and offered gentle encouragement. "That's the spirit. Raise Tuantuan well, and in a few short years, it'll be time to marry him off. And not long after that, you'll be surrounded by grandchildren. Life has so much waiting for you, trust me."
Yunzhu, still young and unpolished, listened in silence as the two women shared the kind of wisdom that only comes from lived experience.
Liu Jing's gaze fell on her next, and there was something sharp in her tone, something almost conspiratorial. "Duke Dingguo is a deeply caring man, but it's been clear he's holding himself together too well lately. That kind of composure isn't always healthy. When you're alone with him tonight, don't press. Let him be soft with you, let him cry if he needs to-he might surprise you."
Yunzhu, earnest and willing, nodded. "I'll talk to him tonight."
The funeral was over, the crowd dispersed, and the quiet began to creep back into the Zhang household. Yunzhu and Zhao shi saw to it that the last guests were sent home before slipping away themselves.
Back at Duke Dingguo's mansion, Yunzhu quickly discovered that Cao Xun hadn't returned. No tender reunion, no stolen glances-he'd gone straight to the Governor's Mansion on some errand. Official duties, of course. Always duties.
But was he really that busy? Or was he avoiding the storm of his own emotions?
With no other choice, Yunzhu settled into the quiet waiting, time stretching unbearably thin. She wasn't particularly good at this-comforting others, especially men who refused to break. If Cao Xun came to her undone, if he cried, she could hold him, soothe him. But she feared the opposite-him standing there, too calm, too cold, leaving her feeling helpless and unneeded.
The hours dragged on, the sky outside darkening until finally, long after sunset, Cao Xun returned.
Yunzhu lounged in the center of the room, her gaze sliding lazily over Cao Xun as he entered, sizing him up with deliberate intent before speaking in a slow, sultry tone. "Have you eaten yet? Because I haven't, and I'm starving."
Cao Xun paused, visibly caught off guard, before letting out a small, weary sigh. "Didn't I tell Ah Jiu to relay my message? It's been a day-too much to juggle. I suggested you eat without me."
Yunzhu's eyes narrowed, her tone sharp but undeniably teasing. "And what, leave me eating alone like a fool? What's the fun in that?"
Without another word, Cao Xun flicked a hand toward Lian Qiao, who took the hint and headed to the kitchen to fetch something to eat.
The meal was brought in quickly, and Yunzhu settled in, every movement smooth and languid as she ate. Her gaze, however, was anything but idle-it stayed locked on the man across from her. Cao Xun, who'd spent the past three nights running himself ragged, barely looked human. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him, sinking into his features and leaving him undone.
Once the last bite was gone, Yunzhu leaned forward, her voice quiet but insistent. "Go lie down. You need sleep."
Cao Xun was too tired to resist her. He let her lead him to the bed, and when she lay beside him, his arms instinctively pulled her close. For a while, he just held her, his voice a low murmur against her ear. "You've been working hard too."
Yunzhu's voice softened, though her tone kept its edge. "Hard? Please. I'm fine. You, on the other hand-when you're hurting, you don't always have to swallow it. You can cry, you know. It doesn't make you weak."
Cao Xun gave a small, worn-out smile. "I'm no child."
Yunzhu's fingers ghosted over the corner of his tired eyes, the touch as light as silk. "Who said tears are reserved for children? Bottling everything up does worse things to you than you realize. You're older than me, aren't you? Carrying that kind of weight in silence will age you faster than anything else. Let it out when you need to."
His hand caught hers, and he kissed her fingertips slowly, his lips lingering. "I haven't wanted to cry for years. Not even when my father died. Didn't shed a single tear."
She didn't answer immediately, the air between them turning heavy with unspoken thoughts.
After a pause, he looked at her with a strange seriousness. "Do you think that makes me heartless?"
Yunzhu shook her head slightly, her tone curious but firm. "No. But it makes me wonder-have you ever cried about anything else?"
His voice dropped, hoarse and steady. "The first time I went to war, I cried. When I saw men I fought beside drop dead right in front of me... I couldn't help it. For a while, it happened often. Then I stopped. I got used to it."
Her breath hitched faintly. Get used to it? Could a man ever really grow accustomed to something like that?
She said nothing, unsure of what to offer him beyond her presence. But deep down, Yunzhu knew-no matter how much a person "got used to it," the ache still remained. It was the kind of weight that settled in your bones, impossible to shake. And she was certain Cao Xun still carried the grief for Zhang Xingjian, even if he wouldn't admit it.
Sliding closer, her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "I'll hold you for as long as you need. And if you ever feel like talking, I'll be here. I'll listen."
Cao Xun didn't reply. His body was heavy with exhaustion, his defenses down, and his spirit frayed. Finally, his voice broke through the quiet, barely audible. "Stay with me. Just for a little longer. Once I fall asleep, you can let go."
Yunzhu said nothing more. She simply stayed, her warmth against him steady, her presence grounding him. And for the first time in days, maybe even weeks, Cao Xun allowed himself to let go, sinking into the comfort of her embrace.