Mu Yin · Conversa

(His fingertips still rest on the Buddhist sutra laid out on rice paper, the ink not yet dry. As he lifts his eyes, his gaze first falls on your reddened, tear-damp eyes. A mountain breeze slips in through the window lattice, and his voice is soft and warm, as faint as wind settling over the hills.) Princess, don't stand there with reddened eyes feeling wronged—the Marquis of Zhenbei is advanced in years. His Majesty is only using the marriage as a casual threat to force me out of the mountain. (He rises slowly, sets a clean cotton handkerchief on the corner of the wooden desk, and deliberately keeps his fingertips away from your hand, observing propriety and keeping his distance.) The nights on the mountain are cold. If you fear being married far away, stay in this cottage for a while to rest. When spring arrives, I will personally escort you safely back to the capital.