Chapter 9: Autumn Rain

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The autumn rain fell softly, the weather shifting between cloudy and clear, yet it did little to diminish the bustling splendor of the capital city. Yan Kuang wandered aimlessly through the streets, his expression as indifferent as ever. His tall yet lonely figure stood out awkwardly against the vibrant backdrop of the capital.

In truth, Yan Kuang remembered that his first meeting with Cheng Ru Yi was not in the imperial prison. Months ago, he had been on official business, and on the day he returned to the capital to pay respects to the emperor, Cheng Ru Yi, having just been named the top scorer in the imperial examinations, was also summoned along with the second and third placers to receive their honors.

As the evening sun cast long shadows, the two passed each other on the grand steps. The golden hues layered like misty clouds, blazing like fire, while the scholar’s azure robe seemed to ripple like a southern rain, moving like a gentle breeze that brushed away the burning heat.

It was a sight that made one pause, stealing an extra glance.

After that, Yan Kuang never saw this new top scholar again. The civil and military factions of the current dynasty were at constant odds, like fire and water, and at the time, Yan Kuang never imagined that his next encounter with Cheng Ru Yi would be under such dire circumstances.

Cheng Ru Yi was unfortunate, but not unusually so—merely caught in his own web, yet hardly guilty of any great crime. Among the countless tragedies and regrets in this world, his story hardly stood out as extraordinary.

Yet, ironically, he became the exception in Yan Kuang’s own life.

Having immersed himself in the affairs of the Zhenfu Office for ten long years, Yan Kuang had dealt with countless lives—some deserved their fate, others wronged. Compassion was not new to him, but this was the first time he inexplicably hoped Cheng Ru Yi would survive.

And it would be the last.

Perhaps it was because he valued talent, or because both were strangers without kin, or perhaps because, amidst the capital’s cutthroat world, Cheng Ru Yi, scorned by all, still retained a sliver of—

Conscience.

In any case, Yan Kuang was about to resign and leave the capital, and Cheng Ru Yi would be the last prisoner under his charge.

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Even the executioner’s blade dulls with use.

Where Cheng Ru Yi would end up was no longer Yan Kuang’s concern. At least, in his final glance, he was still alive.

Alive meant endless possibilities.

Lost in thought, Yan Kuang found himself wandering the streets in circles. Suddenly, raindrops began to fall again. Along the ten-mile street, umbrellas bloomed like flowers in red, white, blue, and black, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Pedestrians and vendors without umbrellas hurried to find shelter, while others, unconcerned by the rain, strode boldly and unhurriedly.

Yan Kuang looked up and suddenly realized he had reached the bridge.

Earlier, he and Cheng Ru Yi had agreed to meet there, though both knew full well that neither would truly keep that appointment.

The bridge had no name; the locals called it the Bluestone Bridge. Yan Kuang stood alone atop it, watching the shifting shadows of umbrellas in the distance, their patterns swirling and overlapping.

The rain grew heavier. What had begun as a light drizzle now poured down in torrents. The crowds dispersed quickly, umbrellas folded, and the lively street fell silent.

But then, suddenly, the sound of rain around him softened.

Startled, Yan Kuang noticed a shadow fall over him.

Raindrops slid down his hair as he turned sharply, shaking off a spray of water.

“Ah, Lord Yan…”

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The rain pattered loudly on the umbrella, around them, and overhead.

Cheng Ru Yi stood beneath it, holding a pillow in one arm while awkwardly brushing water droplets from his face with the other.

“Lord Yan, be gentle… I didn’t get caught in the rain, but you’ve splashed me all over,” Cheng Ru Yi muttered, half complaining as he pressed the pillow into Yan Kuang’s arms.

Jokingly, Cheng Ru Yi said, “Lord Yan, you’re forgetful. You didn’t even bring silver—planning to buy clothes on credit?”

Yan Kuang held the pillow, momentarily speechless.

Cheng Ru Yi shivered from the cold and said, “If I’d been a little later… ah, would you have been drenched like a soaked rat? So, Lord Yan, you won’t mind that I took the liberty of using your money to buy this umbrella, will you?”

“No, I won’t,” Yan Kuang replied, his usual stern face now clouded with confusion.

But Cheng Ru Yi smiled, and Yan Kuang felt as though the man before him was no longer weighed down by bitterness and resentment. The fear and hesitation in his eyes had vanished.

Yan Kuang lowered his gaze as Cheng Ru Yi looked up. At the very moment they truly met each other’s eyes for the first time, the umbrella’s canopy filled with water, which suddenly cascaded down its ribs, splashing waves of droplets and soaking the hems of their robes.

Author’s Note:

The autumn rain falls softly, memories vivid and clear.