Waiting for You for a Long Time, But You Haven't Arrived - Chapter 43

She could not suppress her longing for Ming Yishu.

Ming Yishu was dead.

The auspicious crimson decorations prepared by the Prime Minister’s Estate were all replaced with pure white.

A grand wedding had transformed into a grand funeral.

In a season where spring should have been returning with warmth, the heavens and earth suddenly brought forth a great snowfall.

It was just as Bolu had once said: during the snowy season, pale paper money clears the path, and desolate white funerary banners lead the soul. Everything merges into a single expanse of white, making the funeral proceedings appear all the more desolate.

In the capital, no one dared to ask the Right Prime Minister why she had not held a grand celebration for her birthday, nor why she was suddenly conducting a funeral at the time she was supposed to be taking a wife.

As night approached, Bolu walked into the white silence of the Prime Minister’s Estate to find Jiang Qionghua.

Inside the central hall of the palace, a coffin sat in repose. Jiang Qionghua stood before the Ever-Burning Lamp, her back turned to everyone, lost in unknown thoughts.

“Prime Minister.” Bolu bowed in greeting, his voice sounding older than usual. “The encoffined remains should stay for a longer period. Miss Ming was only placed in her casket yesterday; to bury her today is perhaps far too hurried. It would be better to select another auspicious day for the burial…”

“Today is my birthday. No day could be more suitable than this,” Jiang Qionghua said faintly, staring blankly at the coffin. “She left in such a hurry, refusing to even finish listening to my words. Since she wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible, I cannot keep her… Bury her quickly. Act as if such a person never existed in the Prime Minister’s Estate… You—none of you are to mention her name in my presence from now on. I do not wish to hear it… Throw away everything related to her. Cast it all out of the Estate…”

Led by Bolu, the servants in the hall instantly knelt across the floor, saying in unison, “Prime Minister, please restrain your grief.”

Their Prime Minister was clearly acting strangely due to excessive sorrow. Despite speaking such heartless words—appearing indifferent and calm—her tears flowed incessantly. The crowd had never seen the Right Prime Minister cry before; this was the first time they saw her weeping with such heartache and suppression.

Jiang Qionghua talked to herself about throwing away all of Ming Yishu’s belongings. She spoke to the coffin alone for a long time, until finally, as if unable to support herself any longer, she bent over and gripped the wooden casket.

Bolu was violently startled and hurriedly stepped forward to support her. “Prime Minister, you haven’t closed your eyes for a long time. Let this old servant help you down to rest.”

“Bolu, my head hurts.”

Jiang Qionghua looked at the coffin before her with vacant eyes and repeated, “My head hurts so much.”

Bolu was at his wit’s end and could only try mentioning something else to bring her back to her senses. “Prime Minister, today is your birthday. I heard that Miss Ming once again hand-carved a jade hairpin for you this year, just like the birthday gifts she gave you in previous years. Including this year’s, the full set can finally be completed.”

Jiang Qionghua smiled bitterly. “I can’t find the previous ones.”

She had casually bestowed them upon servants or sent them away without a second thought. Where could a complete set possibly be found?

“They can be found; they are all kept in the estate treasury,” Bolu said. “These were birthday gifts. Even if you bestowed them upon us, we wouldn’t dare truly accept them. I have gathered the jade hairpins from over the years together. They are displayed in our treasury… You… should go and have a look.”

Could they actually still be found?

Only then did Jiang Qionghua seem to have her soul recalled. She walked outward numbly, facing the sudden snow on the cusp of spring, completely ignoring the ground beneath her feet.

“Prime Minister, watch your step,” Bolu hurried to support her, cautioning, “Heyi is there; you almost stepped on him.”

“It’s Little White.”

Jiang Qionghua looked down belatedly and discovered there was indeed something by her feet.

The wolf cub was crouching in the snow, motionless. It was unknown how long it had been waiting; its entire coat was covered in snow. If one didn’t look closely, they might have thought it was some kind of snow-covered decorative sculpture.

Jiang Qionghua stared blankly at Heyi on the ground. Her heart suddenly felt very empty. The wolf cub she gave to Ming Yishu was still here, yet Ming Yishu had left this world so early…

“Are you cold?” Jiang Qionghua spoke to the wolf cub, half-leaning over to brush away the snow covering it with her hand. She couldn’t clear it all at once; as soon as one layer was brushed off, another remained. This wolf cub didn’t even know to avoid the cold; if the snow got any heavier, it could be buried alive.

Their Heyi had grown up. Touching him now, he no longer had the fluffy texture of his youth. Jiang Qionghua thought that since the wolf’s fur was wet with snow, some of the hairs were sharp and stiff, even pricking her hand.

Jiang Qionghua rarely paid attention to Heyi. Now that the wolf’s other owner was gone, she was the only one left to raise him. She should take good care of this cub; Ming Yishu surely hoped that Heyi could grow up smoothly and happily—

“Where are you going?” In the moment Jiang Qionghua was lost in thought, the wolf cub under her palm suddenly stood up, shook the snow from its fur, and darted away like an arrow.

The cub ran off. Jiang Qionghua hurriedly called out his full name to bring him back: “Bai Heyi!”

Heyi glanced back at the resting coffin, paused his steps, gave a dry howl toward the snowy night, and ran toward the estate gates without looking back.

Jiang Qionghua hurriedly ordered people to pursue him, but how could a human’s pace match that of a wolf? Even if the gates were closed, Heyi knew the places he usually jumped over the walls to leave. The Prime Minister’s Estate could not keep him; he refused to stay here any longer.

Jiang Qionghua’s heart tightened. She suddenly remembered the day she had first captured the wolf cub and brought it back, placing it on the couch for Ming Yishu. Ming Yishu’s eyes had been full of joy as she pulled her along to name the cub together.

Those days were peaceful and simple, quite comforting. Ming Yishu had named the wolf cub “Heyi” (Meaning: As one wishes), a name with the auspicious meaning of “smooth and as one wishes,” saying it could lock in all the beauty of that time.

But she was always too lazy to use that name. Every time she came by, she would casually call him “Little White” to summon him.

To accommodate her habit, Ming Yishu had given Heyi the surname “Bai” (White). This surname was common and nothing inappropriate, but… Jiang Qionghua looked at the direction Bai Heyi had left with a complex gaze. She recalled the full name: Bai Heyi. All the good intentions of the name dissipated because of that surname (In Chinese, “Bai Heyi” sounds like “all in vain/meaningless”). She blamed her own arrogance for never thinking deeply about this layer.

She always liked to call the wolf cub whatever she pleased, treating it like a cat or dog she could dispose of at will. Because she rarely put her heart into it, she never savored the inappropriateness of the name.

But Ming Yishu was different. Ming Yishu must have thought of this; she simply never brought it up in order to defer to her. No wonder Ming Yishu had never called the wolf cub by its full name, always referring to it as “Heyi” or “Little White” whenever she mentioned it.

Jiang Qionghua exhaled deeply, a white mist of breath escaping her lips as her guilt intensified.

The person was already dead; her memories were an exercise in futility. Thus, Jiang Qionghua calmed herself in the snow for a long time before taking out the jade hairpin from her sleeve and handing it to Bolu. “I won’t go see them. Lock away all of Ming Yishu’s things. I don’t want to see them, and I cannot see them anymore.”

She had to force herself to forget this person, burying everything related to Ming Yishu—she didn’t even personally go to watch Ming Yishu’s coffin be interred.

Following that, the Prime Minister’s Estate seemed to return to its usual routine, only missing that one person who could not be mentioned, and gaining a forbidden area where one could not go.

Jiang Qionghua went on as usual, doing what she always did. She maintained her foul temper during morning court sessions, and after court, she returned to the estate to read through memorials. It seemed she had truly forgotten that person. In the time the other was absent, there was nothing she couldn’t get used to.

Time passed quickly and tediously. One season followed another. One day, while facing the mirror, Jiang Qionghua realized her own face had become somewhat unfamiliar.

How could she be so exhausted and pale? This wasn’t her; she shouldn’t be like this.

An inexplicable surge of irritability rose within Jiang Qionghua. She swept the items off her desk, stood up, and walked out.

It was winter again. This year, there was no trace of cold air. Winter was already halfway through, yet not a single snowflake had fallen.

Jiang Qionghua was in a bad mood, so she dismissed all the accompanying servants, wanting to walk through the estate alone. She wasn’t paying attention, strolling according to her whims. She constantly felt as if she had forgotten something important. By the time she snapped back to her senses, she had walked to a place that was pitch black.

In the Prime Minister’s Estate at night, wherever there were people, candles would be lit. The palaces and buildings here were all of the finest quality; by no means should they look completely dark and desolate.

Jiang Qionghua felt that she might not be as young as she once was—why was her vision even a bit blurred? She scanned her surroundings at the palace and found it extremely familiar. Every step she took seemed like a long-held habit; which brick she stepped on and which scenery she looked at were all exceptionally well-known to her.

This path—she seemed to have walked it thousands of times. Every time she came, it was with ease and joy, wanting to see a certain person, to do a certain thing…

This palace was very dark and lonely, and no one came to sweep the dust. Jiang Qionghua planned in her heart to have people clean it tomorrow, while simultaneously stepping inside.

The gardens in front of the palace were crisscrossed with withered branches, looking as if they had been abandoned for a long time. Her gaze bypassed the decaying, intertwined branches and looked toward the distance.

The path ahead was difficult to walk. A voice seemed to be clamoring in her heart, urging her to come and see, to take a walk.

Unknowingly, the first snow of the winter finally fell. Jiang Qionghua felt the chill, looked up at the night sky, and discovered it was snowing.

It was snowing. The first snow—would it be as grand as last year’s?

Jiang Qionghua remembered that last winter was very cold. She was always walking in the snow, her body often carrying the chill of wind and frost. There was a person who was even colder than the snow, whose hands and feet were always chilly, like a breeze after the snow had cleared—very light, very faint, impossible to grasp, dissipating quickly.

Jiang Qionghua gripped her own arms tightly and waited in place for a moment. She thought she must have lost something very important; otherwise, why did her heart always feel so empty?

The further she walked toward the palace, the more profound that feeling of lost melancholy became. A metallic taste of blood rose in her throat, and her eyes hurt terribly. She pushed aside the withered branches, walking toward that spot regardless of everything. She seemed to see a familiar figure standing there under the moonlight and amidst the wind and snow—that person seemed to be standing there quietly waiting for her.

The other was dressed very thinly, waiting for her intently, gazing in her direction. She would smile at her, calling her name tenderly and softly…

Jiang Qionghua walked faster and faster, until at last she didn’t even care about the withered branches. Under the cold wind, the branches were frozen and hard; as they brushed against her cheeks, they felt like knives. Jiang Qionghua seemed unable to feel the pain, thinking only of walking over as quickly as possible to take a look.

To ask the other if she was cold, and why she was standing in the snow wearing only a thin garment.

She finally pushed aside all obstacles and walked over, facing the moonlight.

A sudden gust of wind rose in the night, blowing through the ruined place. The withered branches and fallen leaves made a sobbing sound in the wind, like someone sighing softly in the night.

Jiang Qionghua stopped abruptly. She looked around blankly and discovered she was standing there all alone. There was no one in front of the palace, and there were no candles inside. In the vastness of heaven and earth, it seemed she was the only one left.

Boundless loneliness instantly enveloped her. She seemed to have lost everything.

The heavy snow drifted. The palaces, pavilions, and terraces remained silent. Jiang Qionghua stood desolately before the palace. Amidst the biting wind, she looked back behind her and finally realized she could not suppress her thoughts of Ming Yishu. The longing she had desperately suppressed was about to spiral out of control. She could not live without Ming Yishu.

She was going to go mad.

The next day, the Right Prime Minister, who rarely took leave, did not attend the morning court.

It was said that Jiang Qionghua had accidentally caught a cold the previous night and was bedridden.

Only those within the Prime Minister’s Estate knew that Jiang Qionghua hadn’t merely caught a cold. When the hidden guards rushed there, they found her in Ming Yishu’s bedchamber.

At that time, Jiang Qionghua’s face was covered in tears, her eyes were bloodshot, and she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to harm herself. No one knew what she had found, but her expression was so ghastly and sorrowful.

The usually high and mighty Right Prime Minister was kneeling in the pitch-black bedchamber, clutching a lock of hair tied in a knot, murmuring incessantly that the woman was her wife, and that they were already married.

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