Sister, Please Have Some Self-Respect, I'm Your Sister-in-Law - Chapter 6

Time flowed quietly, like water.

Under Lin Yuehe’s “meticulous care,” her vegetable garden had become a lush, fragrant oasis, a scenic highlight of the Song family estate.

Even Landlord Song and his wife, who had initially paid her little attention, occasionally praised her as “a woman who knows how to manage a household.”

Her performance as Song Zhiyuan’s “loving wife” grew increasingly polished, though behind closed doors, they remained steadfast allies, encouraging each other and sharing their innermost thoughts.

One afternoon, Lin Yuehe noticed that the once-withered wisteria vine in the corner of her courtyard had, thanks to her silent nurturing, burst into cascades of pale purple blossoms. The fragrant blooms hung like waterfalls of mist, their delicate scent filling the air.

A thought struck her. She clipped several of the fullest clusters, prepared a pot of freshly brewed chrysanthemum tea, and, gathering her courage, walked toward Song Qingshuang’s courtyard.

She had observed Song Qingshuang for some time and knew that if she had no other duties in the afternoon, she often read in the small pavilion in her courtyard.

Peeking through the moon gate, Lin Yuehe saw Song Qingshuang sitting alone on a stone bench in the pavilion.

She held a book, but her gaze drifted, not fixed on the pages, as if lost in deep thought.

Lin Yuehe approached softly. “Eldest Sister.”

Song Qingshuang snapped out of her reverie, her eyes meeting Lin Yuehe’s. The fleeting trace of distraction vanished, replaced by her usual cool composure. “Sister-in-law.”

Her gaze fell on the wisteria blossoms and teapot in Lin Yuehe’s hands. “What’s this?”

“The wisteria in my courtyard bloomed,” Lin Yuehe explained, her smile gentle. “I thought Eldest Sister might like some, so I cut a few sprigs to arrange in a vase. They’ll fragrance the room for days.” She offered the flowers. “I also brewed some chrysanthemum tea. It’s good for clearing heat and brightening the eyes.”

Song Qingshuang stared at the vibrant purple blossoms, then at Lin Yuehe’s radiant smile, which held no trace of shadow. After a moment of silence, she reached out and took the flowers.

Her fingertips brushed against the damp stems, and she paused, murmuring, “…Thank you.”

Lin Yuehe took the opportunity to sit on the stone bench opposite her and poured a cup of tea. The chrysanthemum petals unfurled in the clear, golden liquid.

For a while, neither spoke.

The only sound in the pavilion was the rustling of wisteria leaves in the breeze.

Lin Yuehe, cradling her teacup, stole glances at Song Qingshuang.

She noticed Song Qingshuang’s gaze occasionally drifting to an old, withered plum tree in a corner of the courtyard, a tree that had been barren for years.

“That plum tree,” Lin Yuehe ventured softly, her tone cautious, “it must have bloomed beautifully once, didn’t it?”

Song Qingshuang’s fingers tightened around her teacup, her knuckles turning pale.

She raised her eyes to meet Lin Yuehe’s, her gaze swirling with emotions Lin Yuehe couldn’t decipher.

“Beautiful?” The corner of her lips curved into a faint smile, yet her eyes held no warmth. “What does beauty matter? In the end, it’s all… a fleeting illusion, easily shattered.”

Her voice was soft, yet it carried a weight that crashed into Lin Yuehe’s heart.

Lin Yuehe held her breath, afraid to speak, and simply gazed at her.

Perhaps it was the courtyard’s stillness, or the wisteria’s fragrance stirring up memories, or perhaps it was the purity in those eyes that compelled her to confide.

Song Qingshuang shifted her gaze to the withered plum tree, her voice drifting like a distant echo:

“Years ago, someone else admired the snow beneath this tree. They said… ‘In life and death, we’ll be together, as we vowed.'”

Lin Yuehe’s heart sank.

“We were young then, believing sincerity could conquer all,” Song Qingshuang said, her tone flat, yet each word carried a bone-deep chill.

“He came from a poor family but had lofty ambitions and extraordinary talent.

We… exchanged vows of eternal love beneath this tree.

I believed that if he worked hard and I waited patiently, my parents would eventually soften and grant us their blessing.”

She paused, her long lashes drooping to conceal her emotions, leaving only the tight line of her lips to betray her feelings.

“What happened then?” Lin Yuehe asked softly, her chest tightening as if something were squeezing her heart.

“And then?” Song Qingshuang chuckled softly, a desolate sound.

“Then he went to the capital for the imperial exams and passed as a Jinshi. After that… he married the daughter of his mentor, and his future looked bright.”

She raised her eyes to meet Lin Yuehe’s gaze. “A brief letter, just a few words, dismissed years of affection. The reason? We weren’t a suitable match. The Song family’s modest wealth was merely a stumbling block on his path to success.”

With that, she fell silent, lifting the now-cool chrysanthemum tea and draining it in one gulp.

Lin Yuehe stared at her, finally understanding why Song Qingshuang always seemed so aloof and distant, why her eyes carried an unyielding sorrow. Beneath that icy exterior lay a past of betrayal and heartbreak.

She opened her mouth to offer some comforting words but found them pale and inadequate. Instead, she tentatively reached out and covered Song Qingshuang’s trembling hand on the stone table.

Song Qingshuang stiffened, instinctively trying to pull away, but Lin Yuehe tightened her grip.

“Eldest Sister,” Lin Yuehe said softly, “he wasn’t worthy of you.”

Song Qingshuang’s head snapped up, her gaze colliding with Lin Yuehe’s eyes, which were brimming with heartache, anger, and unwavering sincerity.

There was no pity in those eyes, no curiosity, only a pure sense of injustice for her.

A bitter ache rose in Song Qingshuang’s throat. She quickly turned her face away, withdrew her hand, and her voice regained its usual icy calm, even colder than before.

“That’s all in the past. There’s no need to mention it again.”

She stood up, picked up the strings of wisteria blossoms, and said, “I love the flowers. Thank you for the tea. I’m a bit tired now. You should go home.”

Lin Yuehe knew she needed to be alone and nodded obediently. “Alright, Eldest Sister. Get some rest.”

She rose to leave, but as she reached the moon gate, she turned back.

Song Qingshuang was still standing in the pavilion, her back to her, her figure appearing particularly lonely and frail beneath the lush wisteria blossoms.

Lin Yuehe clenched her fist, her heart filled with anger toward that heartless man and an even deeper, heavier ache for Song Qingshuang.

Ever since hearing about her past under the wisteria blossoms that day, Lin Yuehe had felt a growing tenderness toward Song Qingshuang.

She began to truly pay attention to Song Qingshuang’s preferences.

One day, using the freshest young gourds and mushrooms from her small garden, simmered in a light broth, she carefully prepared a bowl of soup. She skimmed off all the surface oil, leaving the broth clear and bright, garnished only with a few sprigs of vibrant green scallions.

She also made several small, delicate sachets filled with dried tangerine peel, mint leaves, and a touch of calming dried flowers, their fragrance subtle and soothing.

Carrying the food box and sachets, she approached the study again, her heart fluttering with more anxiety than usual.

She worried her concern might be too obvious, annoying Qingshuang, yet feared she wasn’t doing enough to ease the faint weariness between her brows.

After a soft knock and a murmured invitation, she pushed the door open.

Song Qingshuang was buried in account books. Hearing footsteps, she glanced up, her gaze lingering briefly on the food box in Lin Yuehe’s hands before she said simply, “You’re here.”

“Mm-hmm,” Lin Yuehe replied, placing the food box on an empty spot on the desk. As she opened the lid, a delicate, savory aroma filled the air.

“I noticed Eldest Sister has been working so hard lately, so I made some light soup. See if you like it?” She carefully took out the soup bowl and a small spoon, arranging them gently.

Song Qingshuang studied the clear, translucent soup, then met Lin Yuehe’s concerned gaze. Without a word, she picked up the spoon, took a small sip, and swallowed.

The soup tasted as delicious and comforting as ever, its warmth spreading from her throat to her stomach. It was truly soothing.

“Very good,” she said, setting down her spoon, her tone even.

Lin Yuehe’s face immediately lit up with a satisfied smile, as if she had received the greatest praise imaginable.

She pulled several small sachets from her sleeve and handed them over, her voice soft and gentle.

“I made these sachets. They’re filled with things like orange peel and mint, so they have a refreshing scent that can help clear your mind. If Eldest Sister gets tired from reading or working on the accounts, smelling these might make you feel a little better. You can also put one by your pillow to help you sleep.”

Song Qingshuang accepted the finely stitched sachets, which carried the bitter-sweet fragrance of orange peel. Her fingertips traced the smooth fabric, and she remained silent for a long moment.

For a time, the only sounds in the study were the soft breaths of the two women.

Finally, she raised her eyes, her gaze deep and searching as she looked at Lin Yuehe.

“Why… why do you treat me like this?” Song Qingshuang asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Lin Yuehe’s heart leaped violently, nearly bursting from her chest.

Forcing herself to remain calm, she lowered her lashes, concealing the turbulent emotions in her eyes. Her fingers twisted unconsciously at the hem of her sleeve, and her voice trembled slightly as she replied, “I… I respect you, Eldest Sister, and I… I worry about how hard you work. I don’t have any special skills, so I can only do these small, insignificant things…”

“I hope Eldest Sister can feel a little more at ease.”

Her words were clumsy but sincere.

Song Qingshuang watched her bowed head, the tips of her ears flushed red, and her fingers trembling slightly with nervousness. In the deepest, most hardened corner of her heart, this clumsy warmth seemed to have quietly pried open the tiniest crack.

She didn’t press further. Instead, she carefully tucked the sachets into a drawer, then picked up her account book again. Her tone returned to its usual calm, though it seemed to have lost some of its chill. “I’ll finish the soup. I’ll keep the sachets. Thank you.”

This was acceptance.

Lin Yuehe’s heart, which had been hanging in suspense, finally dropped with a wave of relief and overwhelming joy.

Afraid of revealing too much emotion, she quickly said, “Then… then I won’t disturb Eldest Sister any longer. I’ll head back now.”

She practically stumbled out of the study, retreating awkwardly. Only after closing the door and leaning against a corridor pillar did she dare take a deep breath.

She knew that the door to Song Qingshuang’s heart remained tightly shut.

But at least she seemed to have found a crack, a tiny opening through which she could quietly slip a ray of warm sunlight.

Nourishing like a gentle rain, subtle and silent.

She wasn’t in a hurry. She had plenty of time and patience.

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