Misty Shore’s Wraith
The mist lingered long after Su Wanqing stepped onto the ferry, winding around the railings like thin silk ribbon woven by the river breeze.
The Tingnan River stretched far into the hazy distance, its surface smooth as polished celadon. Along both banks stood rows of black-tiled cottages, white walls smudged with years of river moisture, willow branches drooping low to brush the water’s surface. A faint scent of osmanthus and wild lotus drifted over, mixed with the earthy aroma of wet bluestone, a unique Jiangnan flavor that belonged only to this water town.
Shen Yanzhi held the oars in silence.
The wooden sculls dipped into the current rhythmically, ripples spreading outward in soft circles and fading quietly. He never turned to look at her, yet every breath he took, every slight shift of his shoulders, carried a heavy, unspoken weight.
Wanqing sat with her back straight, her hands folded gently in her lap. The indigo Suzhou silk fabric draped over her knees, its faint embroidered pattern of water reeds half-hidden in the dim mist. She forced herself to stare at the distant riverbank, refusing to glance back at the man behind her, yet her mind kept wandering back to the moment his cold breath brushed her neck.
Three years of hatred, three years of deliberate forgetting, crumbled so easily at the sight of his face.
“You have lived as a ferryman here for three days,” she spoke suddenly, her tone calm and distant, cutting through the quiet river wind. “The townsfolk talk. They say you never speak, never enter the town, only moor your boat at the isolated western wharf after dusk.”
His rowing motion paused for a breath.
“I have no reason to walk among them.” His voice was low, wrapped in the damp cold of the river.
“No reason?” Wanqing let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Or are you afraid? Afraid others will recognize the monster who drowned Master Su three years ago?”
The word monster fell sharp and cold.
Shen Yanzhi’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the oars. The pale scar on his broken finger tensed faintly under the faint lantern glow, but he did not refute her harsh words.
That silent admission only stoked her anger deeper.
She turned slightly, the hem of her long skirt sweeping lightly over the wooden planks. Through the gap between the oars, she caught a glimpse of his side profile—sharp jawline, cold and distant, the crimson glow in his eyes dimmed, hidden beneath layers of suppressed emotion.
Just as she was about to press further, a soft bell sound drifted from the upstream river.
Clear and delicate, it was the bronze wind chime hung on the bow of a noble lady’s painted boat, a sound well-known in all the water towns along the river.
Wanqing’s expression froze instantly.
Not far away, a carved lacquer boat drifted slowly through the mist, its hull painted with peony patterns, red silk curtains hanging down to block the outside view. Servants in neat indigo uniforms stood on both sides of the boat, holding long bamboo poles to steady their course.
And standing at the bow, beneath an embroidered silk oil-paper umbrella, was a woman in pale peach dress.
Her figure was slender, her hair tied with a simple jade hairpin, her brows soft and delicate. Even through the thick mist, Wanqing could see it clearly—those eyes, that gentle brow shape, the faint curve of her lips…
She looked almost exactly like Wanqing, three years ago.
Soft, mild, with the same quiet, delicate temperament.
The painted boat slowed down gradually, drawing parallel to their small pine ferry.
The peach-dressed woman lifted her umbrella slightly, her gaze falling directly on Shen Yanzhi, her eyes soft and gentle, filled with quiet longing.
“Brother Yanzhi.”
Her voice was soft and sweet, like spring water flowing over smooth stones.
Wanqing’s heart sank sharply.
This was Lin Ruyi, the young lady of the Lin clan from the neighboring water town.
In the three years after everything broke apart, rumors had drifted across the river. Everyone said that the exiled Shen Yanzhi had been taken in by the Lin family, that Miss Lin had cared for him through his darkest days, that they spent every season together by the river.
At that time, Wanqing had forced herself to ignore those whispers, telling herself it had nothing to do with her.
But seeing it with her own eyes now, the dull ache in her chest spread rapidly.
Ruyi’s gaze never left Shen Yanzhi. She paid no attention to Wanqing sitting on the stern, as if this woman did not exist at all.
“The weather turns cold by the river at dusk,” she said softly, raising a hand to hold out a warm linen cloak embroidered with white lotus. “I wove this for you myself. You have always feared the river’s cold wind.”
Every word, every gesture, was familiar.
Three years ago, it was Wanqing who would wait for him by the ferry at sunset, who would hand him thick cloth robes woven by her own hands, who would remind him over and over to guard against the cold river mist.
Lin Ruyi was wearing her shadow, living in the traces left behind by their broken love.
A perfect substitute.
Shen Yanzhi’s body stiffened. He did not reach for the cloak, nor did he reply. His gaze remained fixed on the rolling river ahead, cold and unyielding.
“Brother Yanzhi,” Ruyi called again, her tone tinged with faint grievance, “you have avoided me for days. I only wish to see you well. After all these years… am I still not enough?”
The hidden meaning in her words was clear.
Wanqing looked away, her fingertips curling tightly into her sleeves.
She finally understood why Shen Yanzhi could return to Tingnan Ferry without hesitation, why he could wander this river alone for days without worry. He had someone waiting for him, someone who looked just like the old her, who would tend to his needs, who would never shout harsh words or cast him away in hatred.
The ferryman who once belonged only to her now had another harbor.
Shen Yanzhi’s jaw tightened. He finally spoke, his voice cold and final.
“Return to your boat, Miss Lin. I have a passenger to send downstream.”
Ruyi’s expression paled slightly. She glanced past him, finally noticing Su Wanqing on the stern. When their eyes met, a flash of stunned understanding crossed her face, followed by a faint, bitter melancholy.
She knew who Wanqing was. Everyone in the surrounding water towns knew the name of the Su family’s only daughter.
“I see.” Ruyi slowly lowered the cloak in her hand, the corners of her lips curving into a weak smile. “You are still waiting for the one who left you broken.”
With that, she stepped back into the painted boat, the red silk curtains falling closed with a rustle. The servant poled the boat away, slowly fading into the white mist.
The river fell back into silence.
Only the faint lingering fragrance of peach blossom and lotus remained in the air, a subtle reminder of the woman who had walked in Wanqing’s image for three long years.
Wanqing let out a quiet breath, her tone flat and icy.
“You’ve kept her beside you all these years. A face that mimics mine, a temperament copied from my youth. Is it easier to cling to a substitute than to face the truth of what happened between us?”
Shen Yanzhi’s oars stopped completely.
The mist swirled around the boat, isolating them in a quiet, confined space.
“Ruyi is not a substitute.” His voice was low, carrying a hint of suppressed weariness. “She owes me kindness, and I owe her protection. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more?” Wanqing repeated, lifting her chin, her dark eyes glistening with suppressed hurt. “She dresses in the soft colors I once loved, speaks in the gentle tone I once had, lingers by this river every day just to see you. Do not pretend you cannot see it, Shen Yanzhi. You keep her near because she is the only shadow left of the love you destroyed.”
He did not deny it.
The heavy silence was answer enough.
The ferry continued forward, cutting through layers of water mist. In the distance, the outline of Chen Family Village gradually emerged, roof tiles overlapping among green bamboo and river reeds, smoke curling up from kitchen chimneys.
Their short journey was soon coming to an end.
Wanqing gathered her silk fabric and stood up, ready to step off the boat once they reached the shore.
Before she could move, Shen Yanzhi’s voice sounded again, quiet and hoarse, carried on the river wind.
“I did not choose her because she resembles you.”
He turned his head slowly, his deep eyes locked firmly on hers, the faint crimson light in his pupils flickering faintly beneath the shadow of his hat.
“I kept my distance from her all these years. Every quiet day, every cold night by the river… I have only been waiting for one person to come back to this ferry.”
The mist blurred the line between sky and water.
Between the broken past, the lingering substitute, and the tangled fate binding them together—their second chance had only just begun.
