A person ran past him, shouting excitedly: “Let me see! Let me see!”
A group of people were gathered around a stall, watching something. Yan Xiaohan’s keen ears caught a man’s rough voice: “…I caught this goose outside the city and found a silk fabric tied to its leg. Isn’t this the ancient saying of ‘message by goose’!”
Yan Xiaohan was suddenly curious and walked forward to look closely. Being tall, he could see the dead goose on the chopping board even from outside the crowd. The man was showing everyone a piece of silk: “A northern goose flying south might be a message deliberately sent by northerners!”
Someone shouted: “What’s written on it? Show us!”
The man said: “No! No! This is a rare item…”
“How much for the goose?” Yan Xiaohan suddenly spoke up calmly. “I’ll buy it, silk fabric included.”
The crowd made way. The man, seeing Yan Xiaohan’s noble attire, realized he’d met a wealthy customer and quoted: “One silver coin!”
Yan Xiaohan casually pulled out a silver piece worth one and a half coins, tossing it to the man, who immediately beamed and presented the silk fabric. Yan Xiaohan took it but didn’t open it, simply tucking it into his sleeve. The onlookers, disappointed he didn’t show it off, dispersed. Yan Xiaohan turned to leave, with his attendants collecting the goose.
Walking to a deserted place, Yan Xiaohan repeatedly gripped and released the silk fabric, telling himself not to have wild hopes. The homophone of “northern goose” and “Northern Yan” was just a coincidence, and the trope of message-bearing geese was overused. He’d be mad to be impulsively moved by something so meaningless.
But he desperately needed something from his past to anchor his emotions.
After long moments of composure, his heartbeat gradually calmed. Yan Xiaohan hesitated, finally extracting the white silk with a “might as well” attitude and carefully unfolding it along its creases.
The goose had flown for who knows how long. The white silk on its leg was dirty, the characters dampened and blurred with dried ink stains.
Despite the blurriness, he could clearly recognize the somewhat irregular handwriting because there were only four characters on the silk—
“Is my wife well?”
Chapter 63: Cold Palace | Separated for Seven Days, Missing Him
