Chapter Eighty-Three: The Sun Sets in the West

Yu Hualiang glanced at the carriage. Did this lord already know he would come and had deliberately waited here for him?

Seeing Yu Hualiang’s wary and questioning gaze, the servant interjected, “Ah, what a coincidence today. My lord was just thinking of touring the sights of Jin City, and who would’ve thought we’d run into Master Yu.”

Yu Hualiang nodded. “My lord truly has refined tastes.”

The servant smiled. “Master Yu is a native of Jin City—do you know of any good scenery here?”

Yu Hualiang pondered for a moment. He had only been in Jin City for three years. Though the city wasn’t large and he’d heard of its sights, he had spent his days struggling to make a living, with little leisure to enjoy any views. He answered offhandedly, “Ah, there are many pear trees planted in the southern part of the city. They should be in bloom now, and I imagine it’s quite a lovely sight.”

The servant feigned deep gratitude and raised his hand in thanks. “Many thanks for the suggestion, Master Yu. Please board the carriage first and don’t keep my lord waiting.”

Yu Hualiang nodded and, though unwilling, climbed inside. He thought he would finally get a glimpse of the lord’s true face, but to his surprise, a layer of white gauze hung inside the carriage.

Through the misty veil, he could make out the silhouette of a well-built man.

Yu Hualiang had expected this high-ranking noble to be some white-haired old man.

The master said nothing, so Yu Hualiang sat quietly, saying nothing either. The Seventh Prince watched him in silence. Perhaps because it had been so long since they had sat together like this, his heart beat with unexpected excitement.

Yu Hualiang stared at the carriage ceiling, bored. The lord did not speak, and Yu Hualiang was not one to initiate conversation.

The journey from here to the Wenchuan Painting Society was a bit long. The carriage was so steady that Yu Hualiang began to doze off. Unable to bear the silence, he finally decided to address the lord himself.

He looked at the still figure behind the gauze, smiled politely, and said, “My lord, have you been well of late?”

The Seventh Prince was momentarily stunned. Had Yu Hualiang seen through his disguise? Impossible—if he had, surely he would have fled already. This fellow really couldn’t stand boredom.

Still, the Seventh Prince did not answer. Unperturbed, Yu Hualiang continued, “My lord, I know you love paintings. I wonder, what kind of scenery do you prefer? I would be honored to do my utmost for you.”

After waiting a long while with no response, Yu Hualiang’s smile froze on his lips. He muttered softly, “Asleep, perhaps?”

Suddenly, the carriage jolted to a stop—they had arrived. Yu Hualiang was the first to disembark, watching as the servant helped the master down.

He noticed how mysterious this lord was; even leaving the carriage, he kept his face hidden beneath a white-veiled hat.

Yu Hualiang followed the retinue inside. The master still sat behind a screen, just as before, and Yu Hualiang took his seat at the front.

The servant glanced at his master and raised his voice, “Master Yu, my lord says pear blossoms are not to his liking. He has a preference for apricot blossoms instead. Please paint a scene of apricot flowers.”

At the mention of apricot blossoms, Yu Hualiang’s heart skipped a beat and a dull pain seized him. He pressed his hand to his chest, frowning.

The Seventh Prince, worried, almost rose to his feet but caught himself. He couldn’t reveal his identity so easily. He shot a look at the servant.

The servant caught his meaning and asked, “Master Yu, is something the matter?”

Yu Hualiang took a breath and replied, “It’s nothing.”

He picked up a brush and, as he began to paint, asked, “My lord, would you care for two butterflies in the painting?”

At the mention of apricot blossoms, only the Seventh Prince’s image flashed through Yu Hualiang’s mind—especially the time when the prince insisted on holding him, only for it to rain.

Thunder had crashed, and Yu Hualiang had been terrified, eventually fleeing in embarrassment to a nearby pavilion, where they spoke of the Butterfly Lovers.

That scene had haunted his dreams like a spell, replaying over and over—each time, he saw the two of them embracing amid rain-soaked apricot blossoms.

And always the Seventh Prince’s relentless question: why did you leave me?

Each time he awoke, drenched in sweat, he would find himself in the shabby hut he shared with A-Liu, secretly wishing to see the Seventh Prince again.

But then he’d think, what good would a reunion do? It would only bring more troubles. In time, he would surely forget him completely. Then he could live his simple life, and the prince could achieve his grand endeavors. How perfect that would be.

Yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, hearing “apricot blossoms” made the ache of missing the Seventh Prince flare up within him.

Yu Hualiang looked at the shadowy figure behind the screen, feeling a strange sense of familiarity. The Seventh Prince was a royal, too—perhaps he was pretending to be this “lord” they spoke of.

Unconsciously, Yu Hualiang voiced his suspicion.

The Seventh Prince, too, remembered that day—the story of the Butterfly Lovers he had told, and how the two lovers became butterflies in the end.

He signaled for paper and brush, and the servant read his message aloud: “My lord says he’s heard that apricot blossoms in the rain are a peerless sight. Since it’s a rainy scene, best not to add butterflies.”

Yu Hualiang paused, staring at the paper. “Yes, beautiful...that day.”

Behind the screen, the Seventh Prince’s hand trembled, his eyes brimming with tears. He, a prince of the realm, had been reduced to tears for the sake of a humble commoner, plagued by hope and fear.

He thought, as long as he had Yu Hualiang, nothing else mattered.

After his bout of sorrow, Yu Hualiang saw the man behind the screen was as calm as ever. He smiled apologetically, “Forgive me, my lord, I was lost in thought. I have seen apricot blossoms in the rain before—they’re easy to paint. Please wait a moment.”

The Seventh Prince sighed. Yu Hualiang always made him feel both hopeful and uncertain—mischievous and unpredictable. But no matter; in a few days, he would come to him of his own accord.

To the Seventh Prince, the painting was just as breathtaking as that day. Yet, what he saw was not merely rain-dappled apricot blossoms, but Yu Hualiang himself—one whose smile could outshine the flowers.

When Yu Hualiang left with his payment of gold, he glanced back at the screen, hoping the man behind it might call him by his given name, Ziliang.

But even if he did, what then? How awkward it would be—how could he explain why he wasn’t dead?

And besides, the world was vast. For the Seventh Prince to find him would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Not to mention—he had died right before the Prince’s eyes.

The more he thought about it, the heavier his heart grew. Best not to dwell on it.

The wild geese flew and the sun set over the western hills—whether sad or joyful, a day would pass. If one didn’t overthink things, life and heart would be at ease.

Yu Hualiang let out a long, relieving sigh. Returning to the village, he saw smoke rising from his own chimney in the distance and guessed that A-Liu must be preparing something delicious for him.

The Seventh Prince followed, a smile on his lips as he watched Yu Hualiang’s simple, cheerful figure. Ye Fang looked on, envious. Though he didn’t expect the prince to love him so, at least Yu Hualiang could have been a woman. For a man to be so cherished by the prince—it made Ye Fang, as a man, feel jealous.

Suddenly, the Seventh Prince said, “Ye Fang, did you inform Magistrate Wang?”

Ye Fang snapped out of his thoughts. “Yes, I did.”

“Good. Let’s return.”

Yu Hualiang took out the gold, and A-Liu’s eyes lit up. “This… Did that lord give it to you again?”

Yu Hualiang nodded.

A-Liu examined the gold but couldn’t bring himself to smile. Frowning, he said, “A-Liang, I feel uneasy.”

Yu Hualiang held him close. “What’s wrong?”

A-Liu pleaded, “A-Liang, I keep feeling that if you leave, I’ll never see you again.”

“Nonsense. Didn’t I just come back safe and sound?”

“A-Liang, don’t go paint for that lord anymore. There’s no such thing as a free meal—I feel he must have some other motive.”

Yu Hualiang joked, “A-Liu, do you think my paintings aren’t worth that much?”

A-Liu shook his head earnestly. “A-Liang’s art is priceless. Gold can’t compare.”

Yu Hualiang laughed. “I’m only joking. I don’t want to go either, but he’s a royal. He doesn’t even care about the Wenchuan Painting Society. If I, a mere commoner, were to slight him, I’d probably be a corpse by now.”

Hearing this, A-Liu burst into tears, clinging to Yu Hualiang. “A-Liang mustn’t die!”

Yu Hualiang was at a loss. A-Liu cried so easily—if he left, how would A-Liu cope? Stroking his head tenderly, Yu Hualiang said, “Now, now, why are you crying again? I won’t die. If you don’t like it, we’ll pack up one day and move somewhere new, all right?”

A-Liu nodded and wiped his tears away. That night, as A-Liu fell asleep in his arms, Yu Hualiang lay awake.

He kept thinking of the man behind the screen—how much he resembled the Seventh Prince. But by the prince’s temperament, if he knew Yu Hualiang was alive, he would have rushed to confront him.

Why did you fake your death? Why did you leave me? And Yu Hualiang wouldn’t know how to answer.

He didn’t know why—perhaps it was his promise to A-Liu, or perhaps life by the prince’s side wasn’t what he wanted.

In any case, it had been so long. No matter how much regret or longing remained, the past was in the past.

Yu Hualiang didn’t sleep a wink that night. The next day, a thunderstorm raged and rain fell all day. He sat by the window with the tea A-Liu had brewed for him.

Seeing Yu Hualiang’s lonely figure, A-Liu felt uneasy and spoke up. “A-Liang?”

Yu Hualiang came back to himself. “What is it?”

A-Liu brought out paper and ink. “A-Liang, you haven’t taught me painting in a long time. Let’s do it today, since we’re idle.”

Yu Hualiang forced a smile. “All right.”

He took the brush. “What would you like to paint, A-Liu?”

A-Liu thought for a moment. “I like pear blossoms.”

Yu Hualiang chuckled softly and sketched a pear blossom on the paper. A-Liu watched in awe, then gripped the brush and imitated him, though the result was far from satisfying. Yu Hualiang clicked his tongue and teased him for being clumsy, then patiently guided him hand-in-hand.

“Wow, A-Liang, you’re amazing! It’s beautiful.”

Yu Hualiang nodded. “This is A-Liu’s work. Given time, you’ll become a painter yourself.”

A-Liu blushed at the praise. “Ha, you’re teasing me, A-Liang. I’m too clumsy for this.”

“Nonsense, you’re quite good—just lacking confidence.”

“Really?” There was a spark in A-Liu’s eyes as he gazed warmly at Yu Hualiang.

“Really. From now on, I’ll teach you every day. You’ll be my very first disciple!” Yu Hualiang laughed.

A-Liu pouted. “I don’t want to be your disciple.”

Yu Hualiang stopped laughing—he knew what was coming. A-Liu hugged him tightly. “I want to be your wife.”

A-Liu clung to Yu Hualiang like an octopus, refusing to let go. Yu Hualiang tried to pry him off. “All right, all right! Whatever you want to be, you can be!”

A-Liu grinned. “Then tonight…”

Yu Hualiang coughed. “Er… I think the chicken coop outside has collapsed, I’d better go check.”

A-Liu chased after him, finding another excuse. “A-Liang!”