Chapter 107
Chapter 107: He Shattered That Jade With His Own Hands
The bowl of egg noodles arrived quickly, steam curling like warm breath in the cold air.
Xiao Man ate in small bites. The scalding broth slid down her throat, driving off the weariness clinging to her bones.
Lin Qing Xuan sat not far away and watched her—watched the slight swell of her cheeks as she chewed, watched her lashes dip and lift—and felt a calm he’d never found in rare delicacies or crowded banquets.
He was still turning over the problem of the gifts from the Many-Treasures Pavilion, searching for a way to place them in her hands without making it obvious.
Xiao Man set down her chopsticks first.
She wiped her mouth carefully with a handkerchief, then looked at him with clear eyes and a teasing sort of certainty.
“Eldest Young Master… those little things you bought today at the Many-Treasures Pavilion—were they meant for me?”
His ears warmed.
He kept his expression steady and nodded. “Yes.”
Then, as if forcing himself forward, he added, “Especially the Hetian jade lotus pendant. The jade is warm and fine—it suits you.”
In his mind, it already hung at her waist, pale and clean against her skirts, as if it belonged there. The thought stirred something soft and eager inside him.
Xiao Man’s curiosity sparked. “Oh? If you praise it like that, I have to see.”
Lin Qing Xuan opened the brocade boxes one by one: a lotus jade pendant, a tassel hair ornament, a pure-gold bracelet, a delicate pair of pearl earrings. Velvet cradled each piece; lamplight made them glow.
Xiao Man’s gaze slid over the glittering things and stopped at the pendant. Her mouth twitched, laughter threatening.
“Eldest Young Master, you chose a pendant. Why bring the rest too?”
“The shopkeeper said you lingered over them.”
His voice carried a tension he didn’t recognize until it was already there.
Xiao Man froze. Then she broke into a muffled laugh, covering her mouth with the handkerchief as her shoulders shook.
“That shopkeeper is clever. I was looking at their paperweight stone for the table corner—I was wondering what it was made of. I didn’t pay attention to the jewelry at all. He fooled you.”
Her laughter softened, and she looked at him with something almost gentle.
“If you want to give a young lady something, you should ask what she likes. Guessing like this, spending silver, and still not hitting the mark—how is that worth it?”
Not worth it.
The words landed like a palm pressed to his face.
He’d never, in his life, put such thought into something so small. And now he was being told it was… not worth it.
He picked up the lotus pendant anyway, stubbornly trying once more.
“Then what about this?”
Xiao Man took it in her palm and held it up to the light.
“It’s good jade,” she said honestly. “Fine, smooth, clear. Your eye is excellent. It’s just…”
She turned the lotus in her fingers, puzzled. “Why a lotus?”
“You don’t like it?” His heart lifted, taut.
A lotus rose clean from mud—Buddhist purity. He’d thought it perfect.
“It’s not about liking or disliking.” Xiao Man set the pendant back into the box with careful hands. Her tone went light, but the distance returned, crisp and familiar. “A Buddhist sacred thing is naturally good. But, Young Master, do you truly intend to give me something this valuable?”
She paused, then looked at him directly. A smile flickered at the edge of her eyes, teasing but not unkind.
“If you really want to reward me, Eldest Young Master, you might as well give me a gold ingot. That’s practical. When my contract ends and I leave the manor someday, I can buy two mu of poor land and live a quiet life.”
Her voice was bright, almost playful.
But the warmth in the study vanished as if someone had snuffed the candle.
Lin Qing Xuan’s hand froze midair.
Gold ingot.
Quiet life.
The words slid between his ribs and found the softest place in him—not as a blade, but as a needle: small, precise, devastating. Cold rushed through his limbs until even his blood felt thin.
He withdrew his hand slowly, fingers curling once.
Then he closed the boxes, one after another, silent and controlled. Each motion was steady, the same restraint he wore like a second skin.
Only his lashes, lowered too far, and the thin, hard line of his mouth betrayed what churned underneath.
“So,” he said at last, voice darker than usual, “that’s how you see it.”
Xiao Man watched him and felt a flicker of softness—something like regret—rise and settle.
Better short pain than long pain. If there was no path forward, she shouldn’t leave a door cracked open.
“Eldest Young Master’s kindness,” she said, lowering her gaze, “Xiao Man accepts in her heart.”
Her tone was respectful. Distant. Unmistakably so.
“But gold and jade are not as useful to me as silver,” she continued. “This servant was born low. What I desire is simple: a place of my own, and a steady life.”
“Steady,” Lin Qing Xuan repeated, the faintest curve of self-mockery pulling at his mouth. “In your eyes, staying by my side is not steady?”
Xiao Man avoided the question. “Everything in the manor is good,” she said softly, “but it is not my home.”
Home.
Lin Qing Xuan lifted his eyes and looked at her as if he could see through flesh and bone. The calm, clear depths of his gaze had turned dangerous, dark current running beneath the surface.
“So your home is taking silver and going somewhere no one knows you?”
“Yes,” she said, clear as a bell.
“Fine.”
One word. Nothing more.
He turned away, pushed the boxes aside, and picked up the sutra he’d been reading, as if the page could hold him together.
“When you finish,” he said, voice returning to its old, distant calm, “leave.”
The dismissal was abrupt, almost harsh.
Xiao Man’s chest hollowed for a heartbeat, a strange emptiness she hadn’t expected. Still, she rose and curtsied.
“Yes. This servant takes her leave.”
She stepped out and pulled the door closed gently behind her.
As it shut, she heard a faint, crisp sound from within—like jade striking something hard.
Her heart stumbled.
She paused.
In the end, she did not turn back.
Inside the study, Lin Qing Xuan held the sutra as if nothing had happened, but his eyes stared into empty air.
On the desk, the lotus pendant he’d just been praised for—clear, fine, flawless—lay snapped in two.
The fresh break shone white under the lamplight, sharp enough to hurt the eye.
His knuckles were pale where he gripped the scroll too tightly.
At some point, the black cat Tuan Tuan slipped in and hopped onto the desk. It sniffed the broken jade, then lifted its head and looked at its master with unblinking green eyes.
For once it didn’t talk. It only tilted its head and let out a soft meow, strangely worried.
Lin Qing Xuan didn’t look at the jade.
He didn’t look at the cat.
He only stared out at the thickening dusk beyond the window—still as stone, as if loneliness itself had taken shape and wrapped him tight.