"Brother!" the girl exclaimed. She didn't hesitate; she leaped forward and threw her arms around his neck. Mo Lin burst into a joyous laugh, lifting her into the air and spinning her around in a circle as her melodic giggles echoed through the courtyard.
The nearby maids and attendants stepped aside, lowering their eyes with fond smiles as they watched the long-separated siblings celebrate their reunion. Mo Lin finally ceased his spinning and set her gently back upon the smooth stone pavers.
"How did you know of my return?" he asked.
"Brother, joyful news flies on swift wings," Xiu Qiu said, tossing her head proudly. "The very moment your shoes stepped through the main gates—especially after being away at the academy for so many winters—the entire manor knew within the blink of an eye."
Mo Lin looked at her, his eyes softening. "You have blossomed into a beautiful young lady."
Xiu Qiu pouted playfully, feigning deep injury. "Are you implying I was unsightly before you left?"
Mo Lin smiled, entirely accustomed to her sharp wit. "Your grace has never faded for a single day, little sister," he murmured, gently patting the crown of her head. Then, looking around the expansive courtyard, he asked, "Where are Mother and Father?"
"Father was summoned away," Xiu Qiu replied.
"The Master was called out early this morning on the Emperor's imperial decree," the old house steward chimed in respectfully from behind.
"But Mother is waiting for you within the inner chambers," Xiu Qiu continued, pointing toward the main pavilion. "I merely managed to slip out first."
"How dare you abandon your poor mother to run off on your own!" a sophisticated, ringing voice chided from the veranda.
Supported by two personal maids, the Matriarch of the Xiu family approached. She wore a radiant, welcoming smile, her elegant silk robes and magnificent jade headdress perfectly befitting a noble lady of her stature.
At her arrival, the surrounding servants immediately bowed from the waist in deep reverence.
Mo Lin stepped forward, a broad smile gracing his face as his mother opened her arms to welcome him home.
"Mother," he murmured.
"My son, you have finally returned," she said, her voice thick with emotion as she cupped Mo Lin's face in her soft hands, examining every detail. "Why did you forbid us from sending a grand carriage to fetch you from the province?"
"There was no need, Mother. I know the path back to my own hearth."
"Be that as it may, a long journey by foot breaks the spirit," she insisted, turning to her attendants. "Quickly, draw the hot springs for the young master's bath. I shall brew a pot of our finest Longjing tea myself. You must rest your weary bones before your father returns to the manor."
The old steward bowed low. "Young Master, I shall personally see to the arrangement of your private quarters." With that, he departed to oversee the maids.
Xiu Qiu stepped forward, crossing her arms. "And what of me, Mother?"
"Allow a mother and her son a brief moment of solitude," the Matriarch commanded gently, waving her hand to dismiss the girl. "You have monopolized your brother's attention long enough. Off with you now."
Turning back to Mo Lin, her expression melted into pure affection. "Come, my darling." Mo Lin offered his arm, guiding his mother gracefully back into the reception hall of her private chambers.
Once inside, Mo Lin assisted her onto a carved rosewood daybed before taking a seat on the polished chair opposite her.
"How fares your health, Mother? And how have your days been?"
"All is peaceful, my son," she replied softly.
At that moment, a maid silently entered, placing a tray containing a steaming porcelain teapot and two delicate cups on the low table between them before bowing out.
The Matriarch gracefully lifted the pot, pouring the fragrant, pale-green tea with fluid, practiced movements. She handed the first cup to Mo Lin.
Mo Lin accepted it with both hands as a sign of filial respect. He brought the rim to his lips, taking a few slow, appreciative sips before resting the cup back onto the lacquer tray.
His mother simply sat beside him, her eyes tracing his features, filled with the profound contentment of a mother whose child has returned from afar. Mo Lin met her warm gaze with a reassured smile.
"I hope the masters and administrators at the regional academy treated you with the respect you deserve," she murmured.
"They did, Mother. I suffered no hardships," Mo Lin reassured her. "In fact, I forged a deep bond with a fellow student. He is a rare talent, and we have agreed to meet again later in the capital."
"That brings peace to my heart," she said, patting his hand as she rose from her seat. Mo Lin immediately stood with her. "Go now, my son. The attendants should have completed the preparations for your bath. Wash away the dust of the road."
"Yes, Mother," he complied. She smiled tenderly, leaning up to place a warm palm against his cheek.
But before Mo Lin could turn to leave the chamber, a loud, echoing shout reverberated across the outer courtyards.
"The Master has returned!"
The words had scarcely faded when the sharp, piercing neigh of a royal steed split the air outside. A magnificent, heavily adorned official carriage pulled to a halt within the courtyard. The master coachman leaped down from his perch, swiftly throwing open the carriage doors.
A distinguished gentleman clad in the flowing, embroidered robes of a high-ranking imperial official stepped down. Assisted by a flock of rushing servants who eagerly began unloading his luggage and documents, he marched down the long wooden corridor with a powerful, commanding stride.
"Where is my son?!" his booming voice echoed through the estate.
Within moments, he reached the Matriarch's pavilion.
Spotting his wife and son standing together in the reception area, his face erupted into a grand, joyous expression.
"My boy!" he roared with laughter.
Mo Lin smiled warmly, sweeping his long sleeves back as he bent low in a formal filial bow. "Father. I pray your health has been robust during my absence."
"Excellent! Truly excellent!" His father strode forward, catching Mo Lin by the elbows to lift him from his bow. He placed two heavy, proud hands upon the young man's shoulders, scrutinizing him from head to toe.
"Incredible! You have grown taller than your old man now! And look at that face—you have entirely inherited my peerless countenance. Mark my words, the matchmakers will be battering down our gates to catch a glimpse of you."
Mo Lin could only chuckle softly at his father's unfiltered vanity.
"I remember well the days of my youth," his father continued, puffing out his chest lightheartedly. "I was so exceptionally handsome that the daughters of the highest ministries would beg for a single glance from me. Well... except for your mother, of course. She—oof!"
Before the grand official could finish his boast, a sharp, precisely aimed elbow from the Matriarch struck him squarely in the ribs, cutting his breath short with a sharp groan.
"Father, are you unharmed?" Mo Lin asked, trying to suppress his amusement at his father's sudden pained posture. His father merely nodded weakly, wincing.
Beside them, the Matriarch stood with an entirely innocent, serene smile, looking for all the world as though she had not just humbled a minister of the realm.
"Ahem..." His father cleared his throat, finally managing to straighten his spine. "My son, tell me—I trust you did not bring shame upon our ancestors or cause undue distress to your tutors at the academy?"
"How could he?" the Matriarch interrupted smoothly, her voice sweet yet firm. "Our son is a gentle, quiet soul. He is nothing like you were in your youth."
"Grand Master Zhou is in excellent health, Father," Mo Lin answered, steering the conversation safely away from domestic disputes. "He sends his highest regards to you."
"Ah, that is magnificent to hear! And what of Master—"
"Cease your endless interrogations," the Matriarch chided gently, stepping between them. "Our son has only just crossed the threshold. He is covered in the grime of travel and has yet to bathe or rest his head. Do not plague him with your political inquiries now."
Turning to her husband, her voice softened to a smooth melody. "Mo Lin, go to your quarters." She reached out and took her husband's arm, effectively anchoring him in place.
Mo Lin looked at his father, who had instantly grown silent and compliant under his wife's steady gaze. The Matriarch smiled warmly at her son. "Pay your father no mind, child. Go."
"This son takes his leave, Mother, Father," Mo Lin said, bowing elegantly to both parents before turning on his heel. Behind him, the Matriarch led her husband deeper into her private chambers to catch up.
Mo Lin walked through the winding corridors until he reached his personal pavilion. The guards and maids stationed at his door bowed in unison, and he offered them a polite, gracious nod. Reaching out, he pushed the heavy latticed doors, which creaked softly with a familiar, nostalgic sound.
He stepped inside and paused, his eyes sweeping across the space. Everything remained entirely untouched, exactly as it had been on the day he departed for the province.
His books, his inkstones, and his calligraphic scrolls sat precisely where he had left them. He walked over to the grand reading desk and picked up a collection of philosophical texts; to his quiet gratitude, not a single speck of dust marred the silk covers. Someone had cared for his sanctuary meticulously.
He flipped through a few pages of familiar calligraphy, a faint smile on his lips, before resting the volume back down. Walking deeper into the bedchamber, he noted that his heavy travel satchel had already been placed neatly upon a carved chair before his canopy bed.
"Young Master," the familiar voice of the old house steward called out softly from the doorway. "The hot baths have been thoroughly prepared."
"My thanks, Old Uncle," Mo Lin replied, turning to face him.
"I shall not disturb your peace any longer. Should you require wine or sustenance, you need only call for this old servant." The old man bowed, stepping backward out of the chamber and gently pulling the doors shut.
Left alone in the quiet majesty of his room, Mo Lin walked over to his travel pack. He unfastened the leather straps, carefully removing his modest academy belongings and arranging them neatly within his cedar wardrobes.
Once finished, he moved into the adjoining bath chamber. He unclasped his travel robes, folding them with practiced scholar's precision, and draped them over a lacquered clothing rack positioned before a large, steaming wooden tub filled with fragrant water.
Stepping into the bath, the enveloping warmth immediately embraced his strained muscles. He slowly submerged himself until the aromatic water reached his collarbones, letting out a long, deeply contented sigh as the exhaustion of his long journey finally melted away.
Later, thoroughly refreshed and dressed in a striking, pristine set of silk robes prepared by the estate weavers, Mo Lin sat down at his writing desk.
He neatly arranged a fresh sheet of fine parchment, selected a high-grade wolf-hair brush, and ground fresh black ink upon his stone. Dipping the brush, his hand moved with fluid, masterful strokes, composing an elegant letter across the paper.
Once the ink dried, he opened the chamber door and called for a passing courier servant. He handed over the sealed scroll-letter, providing strict instructions to deliver it swiftly to its designated destination.
The servant bowed deeply, indicating absolute comprehension, and hurried away into the evening light.
With his duties fulfilled and a rare pocket of undisturbed peace before him, Mo Lin closed his doors, moving toward his bed to surrender to a well-deserved rest.