Chapter Forty-Seven: I’m Afraid You Might Fall

Night had brought a rising wind. Shen Nanyuan wrapped a thick cloak around her shoulders and followed beside Shen Sinian, passing by the tents on either side as they made their slow way toward the distant brook.

Though it was late, flames flickered everywhere, their glow lending the camp a surprising brightness. It was deep autumn: the leaves, long since turned golden, looked even lovelier under the firelight. The distant mountains lay shrouded in misty night, while the creek flowed clear and pure from the woods.

Shen Nanyuan knelt by the stream, reaching out to touch the surface. The icy water sent a chill racing up her fingertips, making her shiver and snatch her hand back at once.

“Keep your distance from the edge,” Shen Sinian cautioned. “It’s damp here—one careless step and you’ll slip straight in.”

When Shen Nanyuan didn’t move, he clicked his tongue. “If you don’t listen to your brother, you’ll soon regret it.”

She stood up with a quiet grumble. “I heard you, I heard you.”

Imperial guards patrolled the area from time to time, making her a little uneasy. Fortunately, Shen Sinian was leading them away from the crowds, toward a shadowed area where the firelight scarcely reached. Here, veiled in a misty gloom, everything seemed softly blurred.

“I remember seeing a few persimmon trees around here the last time I came,” Shen Sinian said, walking ahead. “I even picked some. But I don’t see them now.”

“Persimmon trees?” Shen Nanyuan asked, curious. “Why would there be persimmon trees here?”

“Maybe the locals planted them.”

“Then wouldn’t that make you a thief, stealing other people’s fruit?”

Shen Sinian turned with mock indignation. “How could your brother ever do such a thing? After picking, I always tie a purse with some silver to the branch!”

Nanyuan nodded gravely. “I knew you’d never eat someone’s fruit without paying for it. You’re always so thoughtful.”

Xiao Yan, walking at Shen Nanyuan’s side, heard this and allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. For some reason, a sense of peace stole over him.

They followed the creek for a while. Suddenly, Shen Sinian’s eyes lit up. “Found them! Just ripe for the picking.”

He strode ahead. Shen Nanyuan, eager to join the fun, hurried behind him. She failed to notice the slick, damp earth beneath her feet, and before Xiao Yan could catch her, she slipped and landed squarely on her backside.

She cried out, Shen Sinian’s earlier warning ringing in her ears—“It’s damp here—one careless step…”—the words proving all too true. She wrinkled her nose, relieved she hadn’t gone tumbling into the creek itself.

Xiao Yan hastened to help her up, a pang of guilt flickering through him as he steadied her arm. Seeing the mud on her hands, he reached for his handkerchief to wipe them clean, but before he could, she gave a careless hum. “I’ll just wipe it all on my brother’s clothes later.”

It happened that Shen Sinian was wearing a light-colored robe today.

He hadn’t noticed her fall, being engrossed in picking persimmons. Nanyuan slipped free from Xiao Yan’s grasp and ran forward a few paces, only to pause. Realizing something belatedly, she retraced her steps and, a little sheepish, took hold of Xiao Yan’s sleeve.

“Let’s go together.”

She was afraid of falling again.

Blinking innocently, she tried to keep it from showing and said, all seriousness, “I’m worried you might slip.”

“Very well,” Xiao Yan replied, hiding the warmth in his gaze. He let her hold his sleeve, walking beside her. “Thank you for your concern, miss.”

Nanyuan’s heart fluttered. Why did it sound as if he were teasing her?

Side by side, they walked on into the gentle night.

Xiao Yan glanced down at the soft, fair hand clinging to his sleeve. Contentment crept quietly into his heart, and even his features softened.

If only it could always be like this.

He realized, with a start, that he was beginning to harbor selfish wishes.

Shen Sinian had already picked three golden persimmons and looked over at them in confusion. “What kept you?”

Clearly, his attention had been fixed on the fruit—he hadn’t noticed his cherished sister’s tumble. Shen Nanyuan released Xiao Yan’s sleeve and hurried over to her brother, wiping her muddy hands on his robe.

“You’re just faster than us, that’s all.”

Shen Sinian didn’t notice. Smiling, he handed a golden persimmon to each of them. “Many people know about these trees. If we’d come any later, they’d be stripped bare.”

Looking up, Shen Nanyuan saw that the persimmon branches were festooned with little silk pouches, dangling here and there—a curious, almost comical sight.

She supposed, as her brother said, these were payment for fruit eaten. She considered coming back one day to plant a few fruit trees herself—then she could sit back and collect silver from these well-heeled young nobles.

She handed her persimmon to Xiao Yan and went to the creek to wash her hands. When she looked back, she saw that he was carefully wiping each persimmon with his handkerchief, his lashes lowered, his expression gentle and obedient.

She couldn’t help but marvel. He really was a well-mannered boy, not at all like the ruthless figure the stories described.

She took the cleaned persimmon, bit into it, and tasted the sweet, juicy flesh. Her eyes curved in delight, sparkling with happiness. “Delicious.”

“Naturally,” Shen Sinian said with a grin. “I’ll pick a few more for Father to try.”

Xiao Yan’s gaze lingered on Shen Nanyuan, her face alight with joy. The moonlight was hazy tonight, making every secret feeling seem magnified. On a sudden impulse, he reached out and gently took her hand, the handkerchief in his fingers as he carefully wiped the water from her skin.

Startled, she stared at him, persimmon half-eaten in her grasp, her eyes wide. She felt the warmth of his palm and the tender care in his movements, the misty moonlight wrapping around them. Xiao Yan paused, then lifted his eyes to meet her always-bright gaze.