The banks of the Bian River were overgrown with lush reeds, taller than a man.
Rong Dalang trudged through the dense foliage with a face full of gloom and irritation, roughly pushing aside the sharp-edged leaves as his feet sank into the soft mud. He had accompanied Madam Zheng into the city to see the lantern festival, but the crowd had already grown impassable by the time they reached Jimin Bridge at the outer city walls. Feigning concern, he shielded Madam Zheng with one arm while gripping his elderly mother’s hand with the other. Secretly, resentment simmered in his heart—what wretched luck, dragging along these two burdens, inching forward at a snail’s pace.
Had he been born into wealth, would he need to scheme so desperately?
Suddenly, a reckless fool came charging through the crowd, shrieking as he waved a burning lantern. People screamed and scattered in panic. In the chaos, someone’s elbow knocked Madam Zheng’s hair loose, sending her golden hairpin tumbling off the bridge.
Madam Zheng burst into hysterical sobs, wailing that she must retrieve it—it was her mother’s dowry, an irreplaceable heirloom.
What foolishness! Who wears such valuables on a crowded night like this? Useless woman.
Rong Dalang’s reluctance deepened. To save on tea money, he hadn’t allowed Madam Zheng’s meddlesome old servants to accompany them tonight. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have to search for the damned thing himself.
Yet he swallowed his annoyance and put on a reassuring face, thumping his chest as he vowed to recover her treasure. After wiping her tears and murmuring empty comforts, he instructed Granny Rong to take her to a quieter shop nearby to wait while he went down to search.
His plan was simple: go through the motions, smear some mud on his clothes, waste enough time, then return empty-handed and claim the pin was lost for good. Tomorrow, he’d send Madam Zheng’s servants to scour the area instead.
The wind rustled through the towering reeds, their swaying shadows stretching like shifting black mist. The whispering leaves sent a chill down Rong Dalang’s spine as he ducked into the thicket.
He had just settled on a rock, intending to idle away half an hour before heading back, when a sound froze him—footsteps, light as a stalking predator’s, creeping closer.
"Who’s there?" His heart lurched as he whipped around.
The moment he turned, a filthy, stinking sack was yanked over his head. He thrashed and screamed, only to be met with two brutal kicks to the chest, knocking him flat. Pain exploded through him, his cries strangling in his throat as his eyes bulged in shock.
Then came the rain of fists—blow after blow, until his vision swam with stars, blood gushed from his nose, and two teeth clattered to the ground. Curled into a ball, he writhed and moaned, babbling pleas for mercy—"Grandfather! Brother! Father! Spare me!"—but the assailant only struck harder, knuckles like iron.
Dazed, he collapsed onto his back. Through the sack’s ragged holes, he glimpsed fireworks bursting in the night sky, brilliant as blossoms, radiant as flowing fire.
The world was alive with people, yet none noticed the violence in the reeds. Their faces tilted upward in awe, their delighted gasps drowning out his screams.
Music swelled from the entertainment district—what a joyous night for all.
Gu Tusu’s final strike was deliberate. He stomped down between Rong Dalang’s legs, once, twice, grinding his heel until the fragile sacs beneath shattered like eggs, flattening under his boot.
Only then did he pause, lifting his gaze. The man who had been whimpering moments ago now lay motionless, unconscious from agony.
Gu Tusu kicked him twice more to be sure, then yanked off the sack.
Rong Dalang’s face was a swollen, bloody mess, his trousers darkened where ruined flesh seeped through.
Gu Tusu stripped him bare, twisted reeds into rope, and bound him. Timing it perfectly, he dragged the limp body into the water as a cargo ship glided past, silently securing Rong Dalang’s arms to the netting at the stern.
Tilted just so, his mouth and nose would stay above water—unless a storm struck, he wouldn’t drown.
The flat-bottomed vessel carried him away, bobbing with the current, slipping past the Bianjing canal gates before dawn. By the time anyone noticed, the ship would be docked in some distant prefecture.
Gu Tusu knew the man wasn’t dead—only broken, left to fate’s mercy.
Submerged in the ink-black river, only his eyes and nose above the surface, Gu Tusu watched coldly as the ship carved through the waves and vanished.
When he’d first pulled the sack over Rong Dalang’s head, he’d meant only to land a few punches—to vent Sister Xiang’s grievances. She was living well now; this was meant to be her blessing.
Yet with every blow, an inexplicable pain had surged through his chest, sharp as a blade, piercing him clean through.
He seemed to see once more the glistening eyes of Sister Xiang on her wedding day, gazing at him tenderly as she bid him farewell. She had once been so full of joy, entrusting the rest of her life to that worthless scoundrel—yet in the end, she received nothing but misery.
The pain in his heart was so intense that it conjured fragmented hallucinations: he saw Sister Xiang staggering under the weight of a laundry basket taller than herself, scrubbing clothes by the river in the dead of winter, her hands frostbitten and festering; he saw her being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night by her mother-in-law to empty the chamber pot, only to be cursed as lazy, her hair yanked and her head slammed against the wall; he saw her, now emaciated to little more than a sheet of paper, curled up on the floor of the woodshed, mustering the last of her strength to lift her sunken, hollow eyes toward the north...
She wanted to go home—but she never could.
Gu Tusu’s chest tightened as if struck by a hammer, his eyes burning red. He no longer held back his strength.
By the time the cargo ship had vanished from sight, Gu Tusu climbed ashore. He wrapped Rong Dalang’s clothes and the teeth he had knocked out in a bundle weighted with stones and threw them into the river. Then he wrung out his own soaked shirt and trousers before putting them back on. In summer, he wore only thin linen shirts and shorts, along with straw sandals, so the breeze quickly dried him.
He stood in the wind for a while. His dark complexion made him nearly invisible in the night—even if someone had peered down from the bridge, they would have seen only the layered shadows of reeds swaying like gauze curtains. Once the fireworks ceased, the darkness below was so thick that only the faint ripples on the river’s surface remained visible.
Silent as a shadow, Gu Tusu climbed the riverbank and retrieved the wheelbarrow hidden in the bridge’s shade, blending into the crowd.
By the time he returned home, his family was already asleep, leaving only an oil lamp for him. He rinsed off with cold water, carefully washing the mud from his sandals and the wheelbarrow’s wheels before lying down on the bed.
Resting his head on his arms, he stared emptily into the darkness, unsure of what he was looking at. A spider spun its web in the moonlight on the wooden beam above, tirelessly weaving circle after circle.
He had expected to lie awake all night, but sleep took him swiftly.
In his dream, even the sunlight was hazy. The shrill cries of cicadas filled the air, and the willow at the alley’s entrance drooped its slender green tendrils like braids. It was as if he had returned to his childhood—when Sister Xiang’s candy was snatched by the neighborhood bullies, he had charged after them without hesitation. After the fight, he returned with one shoe missing, hopping toward Sister Xiang, whose face was still streaked with tears. He stretched out his hand and grinned.
In his palm lay the candy he had fought to reclaim, now slightly melted and sticky from his grip.
Sister Xiang’s tears turned to laughter as she took his sticky hand, her voice bright:
"Brother Gu, thank you."
His heart softened like that candy, melting sweetly.
But in the blink of an eye, the image and voice of Sister Xiang from his childhood were scattered by a gust of wind. By the time he rubbed his eyes, the two of them in the alley had grown tall in an instant. Now, standing before him in the wind was Sister Xiang again—the gentle, lovely version of her before her marriage.
She smiled at him, just as he remembered—soft-eyed and tender.
In his ears echoed the last words she had ever spoken to him:
—Brother Gu, thank you.
—Brother Gu, I’m leaving now. Take care of yourself.
Even in such a rare, beautiful dream, his heart ached bitterly. Gu Tusu remained asleep, but a single tear slipped from the corner of his closed eye, soaking into the pillow and leaving behind a stain that would never fade.
At first, Madam Zheng and Granny Rong noticed nothing amiss. They waited for Rong Dalang at the teahouse for an hour, then longer—until, as time passed, they began to realize something was wrong. They searched frantically all night, but there was no trace of Rong Dalang. They questioned passersby with their servants, yet no one had seen him. Everyone said he must be lost—with the crowds that night, many had been pushed into the river and drowned.
Granny Rong collapsed to the ground, wailing and cursing, then flew into a frenzy, clawing at Madam Zheng and calling her a harbinger of doom. If she hadn’t sent Rong Dalang to look for her hairpin, how could this have happened?
Madam Zheng, terrified by Granny Rong’s sudden monstrous outburst, burst into tears. Fortunately, a few loyal old servants left by her mother swiftly surrounded her with clubs, shielding her as they scolded, "You, a mother-in-law, have no decency! With no certainty of what happened, how dare you slander your own daughter-in-law’s name? Are you trying to drive her to her death? Enough of this nonsense—do you think the Zheng family is easy to bully?"
Amid the chaos, Granny Rong gained nothing but a venomous glare, her curses never ceasing.
Madam Zheng was utterly shaken. She had never met anyone like this. The fear of Granny Rong overwhelmed her—the world seemed to spin, her kind mother-in-law now a demon, her beloved husband vanished without a trace. The once-beautiful world had revealed its monstrous face.
Beside her stood an old servant who was sharp-eyed. Observing Granny Rong’s behavior, he immediately grew suspicious of the Rong family’s earlier claims. So while reporting Rong Dalang’s disappearance to the authorities, he also sent someone to the inner city to inquire about the Rong family’s previously divorced daughter-in-law, hoping to cross-check the facts.
As fate would have it, the Zheng family servant sent to investigate happened to run into Aunt Li, who was pushing a cart to buy ducks for the Shen household.
Aunt Li immediately perked up and launched into a vivid, half-hour-long account.
Recently, Shen Miao had organized a fish-preservation lottery and often asked the neighborhood boy, Doggie, to help read the characters on the slips. She even paid him with silver coins and treated him to grilled fish. Now that she had started selling roast ducks, she continued to support the locals—first buying up all the ducks raised by families in the alley, then commissioning Aunt Li, who had a knack for selecting poultry, to scout for quality ducks at larger farms. Overnight, Aunt Li became Shen Miao’s dearest auntie and neighbor, and her once-gossipy tongue never uttered another ill word about Shen Miao again.
Even the way she referred to Shen Miao changed—from “that Shen girl” to “our dear girl.”
Seeing the Zheng family servant come all this way to ask questions, Aunt Li unleashed a torrent of embellished tales. She painted a lurid picture of the wicked mother-in-law tormenting Madam Shen as if she’d witnessed it firsthand, and spun a scandalous story about Rong Dalang’s shameless daily trysts with his own mother, so vivid it seemed she’d been standing right beside their bed.
The Zheng family servant nearly fainted from shock.
After uncovering the truth behind the Rong family’s divorce, the servant returned to the inn with a grim expression. Knowing his young mistress was meek, he suppressed his outrage and simply urged Madam Zheng to leave the capital immediately and return to Mingzhou.
“My lady, staying in this unfamiliar place won’t help. Your mother-in-law has gone mad—she’s nothing like before and can’t be trusted! I care not for others, only your well-being. The authorities have already been notified. They’ll investigate Rong Dalang’s disappearance, and whether he’s alive or dead will be determined eventually. We can’t linger here indefinitely, waiting day after day, year after year, can we? Returning home to wait is just the same.”
Madam Zheng, who lacked a strong will, trusted the servant who had protected her from her stepmother since childhood. Seeing Granny Rong spewing vulgarities daily also unsettled her deeply. So she heeded the old servant’s advice and immediately arranged for a carriage and boat to return to Mingzhou.
Granny Rong, of course, objected fiercely. But no amount of her tantrums could overpower the Zheng family’s burly servants. They made it clear: if she wanted to stay and wait, she could do so alone—the Zheng family would not remain in the capital any longer.
Back when Rong Dalang had worried that Granny Rong’s reputation for tormenting her daughter-in-law had spread in Jinling, he convinced her to sell their house and land there and relocate to Mingzhou, where they bought a modest home. The purchase drained their savings, and like parasites who had once lived off Shen Miao’s dowry, the mother-son duo now relied entirely on the Zheng family for sustenance.
Now, with her son gone and little money left, the lonely old woman dared not stay in the capital alone. In the end, she had no choice but to wail, curse, and reluctantly follow them back to Mingzhou.
The Zheng family and Granny Rong bickered all the way back to Mingzhou. Upon their return, the servant revealed the truth behind the Rong family’s divorce. The Zhengs sent people to Jinling for further verification, and soon, the two families were embroiled in a bitter separation. Outnumbered, Granny Rong was beaten out of the Zheng household with sticks—but that’s a story for another time.
As for Rong Dalang… After the cargo ship raced nonstop for a day and night, it finally docked at a port in Zhengzhou. During the customs inspection, the ship’s captain was horrified to discover a naked man tangled at the stern! His chest still faintly rose and fell, his words were slurred, and his lower body was a mangled, waterlogged mess of swollen, pale flesh.
“What cursed luck! How did this river ghost get stuck here?” The captain hastily ordered his crew to cut the man loose. Since he was still breathing, they didn’t dump him into the water. Instead, they tossed him onto a pile of rotten wood and discarded fishing nets in a corner of the dock, avoiding any official scrutiny that might delay their business.
After bribing the customs officer with a hefty red envelope and replenishing their supplies, the ship hurriedly departed.
From then on, Rong Dalang’s whereabouts remained a mystery.
Shen Miao knew nothing of that heart-stopping Lotus Festival night.
She woke up refreshed to find Aunt Li had already delivered thirty loudly quacking live ducks. Tang Er and Fu Xing squatted on the ground, slaughtering and bleeding the birds, while the kitchen stove roared to life, filling the shop with the rich aroma of mutton and pork bone broth.
Tao tied her hair up hastily with a ribbon into a messy bun, then began removing the shop’s door panels to open for business.
Soon after, the first customer of the morning arrived, settling by the window to sip steaming mutton soup.
Chen Chuan and Sister Xiang were still asleep. At first glance, their sleeping postures under the thin quilt seemed proper—until the covers were lifted, revealing Sister Xiang twisted like a pretzel and Chen Chuan sprawled diagonally across the bed.
How could they possibly sleep like that without discomfort?
Shen Miao lifted Sister Xiang’s foot from under her arm and couldn’t help marveling at how supple children were—such flexible ligaments!
After washing up, Shen Miao went about her usual daily business.
At the Piyong Academy, Shen Ji was scraping the last remnants from a jar of pickled vegetables, his face etched with gloom.
The treats his elder sister had brought him had been devoured the moment he stepped into the dormitory by his ravenous, green-eyed roommates. The dried peaches and cricket cakes had vanished on the first day, the instant noodles within two or three, and soon even the provisions his classmates had brought from home ran out.
Left with no choice, he resorted to cooking simple porridge on a small stove, pairing it with pickled bamboo shoots and cured meat.
Thankfully, the day of rest was near.
As he sipped his watery porridge with pickles, Shen Ji’s entire expression screamed his eagerness to rush home.
He wasn’t the only one counting down to the break. In the scholars’ dormitory, Ning Yi and Xie Qi were equally restless.
The cicadas hummed, banana leaves swayed—it was the tranquil hour of midday. While most students, including Shang An, were napping, only Ning Yi, plagued by cravings, and Xie Qi, who had risen after a light nap with his cat, remained awake.
Xie Qi had picked up a book to read in silence, while Ning Yi… Ning Yi was rolling around on his bed.
Ever since snatching a bite of roast duck from Xie Qi a few days prior, Ning Yi had been utterly obsessed, as if poisoned by the memory. He could barely eat or sleep, consumed by thoughts of that duck.
After a few more rolls, he collapsed weakly on the bed, lifting his eyelids to gaze at Xie Qi by the window.
Xie Qi sat at his desk, a stack of books on the left side. Atop the pile rested a shallow, round wicker basket where Qilin lounged, its tail dangling and flicking lazily.
On the other side of the desk stood an exquisite miniature bamboo-jointed ceramic incense burner, emitting a delicate wisp of cliff cypress fragrance, subtle yet pervasive. Xie Qi held a half-unrolled book, absorbed in reading. The bamboo blinds were half-drawn, and the radiant midsummer light filtering through made the scene resemble an orchid flourishing indoors.
Ning Yi watched Xie Qi for a while, then the cat’s swaying tail, before idly counting on his fingers—just two more hours until they could leave the academy.
He had already decided: instead of heading straight home, he would first stop by Shen’s shop and order a whole duck!
Just as he finished counting, Qilin suddenly stood up in its basket, stretching its front paws in a languid yawn before leaping gracefully onto the desk. Its round, gleaming eyes darted toward Xie Qi, but seeing the human still engrossed in his book, the cat seized the moment—plunging its head into Xie Qi’s Jun-ware teacup for a quick drink.
Ning Yi saw it all and was about to alert Xie Qi when he noticed the latter deliberately avoiding any sudden movement, not wanting to startle the cat. Xie Qi gave a slight shake of his head, so Ning Yi stayed silent. Soon, Qilin had its fill and hopped down, sauntering around the room before sharpening its claws on the hemp-wrapped legs of Xie Qi’s chair.
Only then did Xie Qi turn around, sighing in amusement. “Qilin refuses to drink from its water bowl. That cup is now officially its. I left it there today just for this purpose.”
It was baffling. No matter how fresh the water in its bowl, the cat would disdainfully ignore it. But the moment Xie Qi placed a teacup on the desk, Qilin would inevitably stop by for a sip, even if just passing through.
“The whims of a cat are unfathomable,” Ning Yi declared, shaking his head. “But you’re beyond saving—now fully enslaved by your feline overlord.”
“To be a slave to Qilin is my joy!” Xie Qi retorted with mock solemnity, ignoring Ning Yi’s teasing as he beckoned the cat over. He scooped up the fluffy creature, scratching under its chin before fetching a sandalwood comb to groom its golden, leopard-spotted fur. A cloud of loose fur came away, which he carefully gathered into a pouch instead of discarding.
Later, he would take it home and ask the family seamstress if Qilin’s fur could be spun into thread. Ideally, they could embroider a pair of small cat-themed screens, preserving the kitten’s adorable antics forever.
One would go in his study, the other… he’d send to Madam Shen’s home.
Madam Shen.
Qiu Hao had said she was delighted with the roasted duck painting, thanking him repeatedly. But why hadn’t she written back? Even a few words would have sufficed… He wondered how she was doing lately—had she gone to see the lanterns yesterday?
Xie Qi absentmindedly stroked Qilin’s glossy fur, his thoughts drifting far from the cat. Qilin purred contentedly, but his mind was wholly occupied with: “How is Madam Shen? What is Madam Shen doing now…?”
Ning Yi, seeing him lost in thought and utterly ignoring human company, felt even lonelier. He sprang up, calling for his page to prepare ink. “I can’t take it anymore—I’m writing an ‘Ode to Roast Duck’! Someday I’ll compile a gastronomic anthology, documenting every delicacy I’ve tasted, and have it printed. Why suffer cravings alone when we can all suffer together?”
What lofty aspirations. If his family’s elders heard, they’d probably faint from rage.
Ning Yi’s page said nothing, silently laying out paper and grinding ink with a drop of water.
When the academy bell finally rang, signaling the last two classes before the long-awaited break, the students dragged themselves to the lecture hall. As the final chime echoed, they burst forth like a flock of freed birds, scattering eagerly toward their homes.
As Shen Ji stepped out, he happened upon the Xie family's carriage. Xie Qi invited him to ride along, saving him the trouble of squeezing onto the crowded public carts at the city gate.
The Xie carriage was spacious and tall—so much so that Shen Ji only needed to duck slightly to enter. Inside, a low table stood in the center, with seating on either side. After thanking his host and settling in, Shen Ji noticed an unusual addition across from him: a "cat perch." What had once been a small wooden stand for Xie Qi’s ancient texts was now transformed—books long gone, replaced by hemp ropes, a brocade cushion, and a delicate silk summer blanket. A small curtain embroidered with a playful kitten chasing butterflies draped over the perch, and a lacquered wooden plaque engraved with "Qilin" dangled from it. Inside, the cat lounged lazily, stretching with a yawn.
The embroidered kitten bore a striking resemblance to Qilin… and judging by the brushstrokes, it seemed Xie Qi himself had painted it.
Xie Qi served tea and gently quizzed Shen Ji on his studies, offering valuable insights along the way. Eventually, he asked, "The county exams are usually held in February, followed by the prefectural exams in April. But this year, the court has issued an 'additional examination decree,' moving the county exams to August and the prefectural exams to October. Will you attempt them?"
The question caught Shen Ji off guard.
In this era, earning the title of xiucai (scholar) required passing the county and prefectural exams first, granting one the status of a tongsheng (candidate). Only then could one sit for the academy exams, which conferred the xiucai rank. Though merely the first hurdle in the imperial examination ladder, it was already an immense challenge for commoners.
Shen Ji lowered his head slightly. "I’ve only just begun studying. How could I possibly sit for them?"
Yet Xie Qi disagreed. "I believe you should go. Not to pass, but to observe the examination procedures and experience the process firsthand. Though your knowledge may still be shallow, you mustn’t shy away. Only by participating will you truly understand what the imperial exams entail. Once you’ve gone through it, your future studies of the Four Books and Five Classics will be steadier, free from uncertainty. That’s my advice—though you should discuss it thoroughly with your elder sister."
Shen Ji absorbed the words thoughtfully, nodding without noticing Xie Qi’s slight pause and averted gaze when mentioning "your elder sister."
Xie Qi said no more on the subject. In truth, it wasn’t just the county and prefectural exams—recently, the imperial court had issued urgent decrees, mandating that even the academy exams be rushed before winter. Three exams in a single year was unprecedented.
The emperor’s expansion of examination quotas and last-minute additions revealed his growing urgency to elevate scholars from humble backgrounds.
Xie Qi had long passed the county and prefectural exams, but misfortune had repeatedly thwarted him at the academy level. He reflected wryly: Three years ago, his brush snapped mid-essay, smearing ink across the paper; two years ago, a coal delivery soldier tripped, spilling a brazier that burned his exam papers; last year, the examination shed collapsed outright. What fresh calamity awaited this year?
As both young men lapsed into contemplation, the carriage gradually came to a halt.
Shen Ji assumed they’d arrived at the Xie residence and prepared to disembark, planning to walk the remaining distance home. But when he thanked Xie Qi and hurried out, he found the carriage parked in the marketplace—right outside the "Shen Family Noodle Shop," its signboard looming overhead. Startled, he turned to express his gratitude, only to see Xie Qi stepping down as well, Qilin cradled in his arms.
Before Shen Ji could process this, his elder sister, Shen Miao, emerged beaming. "Ji’er, you’re back! And so early—oh! Xie Qi, you’ve come too! And Qilin! My, how you’ve grown! What a round little head—let me hold you. Goodness, why is your belly so big?"
Xie Qi’s expression softened instantly as he gazed at Shen Miao. Stepping past Shen Ji, he moved to her side, reaching out to stroke the cat. "I noticed that too," he explained. "I even took Qilin to Wen Shiqiniang’s veterinary shop on Horse Market Street. The animal physician confirmed there’s no ailment—just layers of fat from overeating, hence the plumpness."
Shen Ji found himself inexplicably sidelined, a vague sense of oddity creeping in. Meanwhile, Shen Miao tilted her face up, eyes curving warmly at Xie Qi. "You’ve arrived just in time! We were planning to make 'bowl chicken' for dinner. Do you enjoy spicy food? Would you like to join us?"
"'Bowl chicken'?"
"Ah… well, it’s somewhat like a chilled version of 'stirred cloud feast' [a hotpot dish], but with assorted vegetables. I just made up the name."
"Not at all—it’s charming."
"Then you’ll stay? Thank you for going out of your way to bring Ji’er home. Oh—do you need to return home first?"
"No need. Qiu Hao, inform my mother for me."
"Wonderful! Come inside, Xie Qi. We’re just prepping the ingredients. You can see if the flavors suit you—I’ve prepared both peppercorn oil and chili oil broths. Perfect for summer: fragrant, spicy, yet refreshing."
"Gladly. I’ll help as well."
Shen Ji stood there dumbfounded as the others chatted away, stroking the cat as they walked inside without him.
Wait… what… what just happened? Had he suddenly been forgotten?
He slowly turned his head and saw Qiu Hao, carrying a book box, smiling at him before clasping his hands in salute. "Young Master Shen, this servant shall take his leave first," he said, then boarded the carriage.
The coachman Zhou Da patted Shen Ji’s shoulder, barely suppressing a laugh, and even the Xie family’s chestnut horse snorted at him.
Only after the Xie family’s carriage had departed did his elder sister, Shen Miao, suddenly remember him. Peeking out from the doorway connecting the backyard to the front shop with a basin of vegetables in her arms, she asked in confusion, "Ji, why are you still standing there like a fool? Come inside!"
Sister Xiang also popped her head out from under Shen Miao’s arm, chiming in, "Elder Brother, hurry in!"
"Coming!" Shen Ji immediately shook off the strange feeling from earlier, hoisted his book box onto his back, and hurried inside.
Pushing aside the curtain and stepping into the now much more spacious backyard, he was instantly enveloped in the rich aroma of food—roast duck, noodle soup, and the pungent fragrance of Sichuan peppercorns.
The familiar, comforting scents relaxed him completely. After setting down his book box and washing his hands, he pulled up a stool beside Chen Chuan and began threading vegetables onto bamboo skewers, mimicking the others. Shen Miao brought over more ingredients, softly introducing each person to him: Tang Er, who talked to the vegetables while chopping them; Fu Xing, who was silently tending to the simmering broth; and Tao, who was sharpening the skewers…
Dusk had settled, and dappled light flickered under the eaves as a bamboo wind chime tinkled in the breeze.
Filled with joy, Shen Ji greeted everyone warmly. Tang Er eagerly pulled him into conversation, and soon Sister Xiang joined in, competing for his attention until he could barely keep up.
So, he didn’t notice.
As the group sat gathered in the yard around platters of sliced vegetables and bamboo skewers, Shen Miao set down a freshly washed basin of meat and greens, then turned to fetch a stool. Xie Qi, seemingly without intention, politely asked Fu Xing to scoot aside, then did the same with the talkative Tang Er, effortlessly clearing a space.
Before Shen Ji realized it, his sister had naturally taken the seat beside Xie Qi.
Nor did he notice how Xie Qi, who had earlier watched others skewer ingredients with practiced ease, suddenly became clumsy—pricking his fingers, dropping food—until Shen Miao leaned over, took the skewer from his hands, and gently instructed, "Ninth Brother, when threading food, start with the firmer ingredients. For a mix of meat and vegetables, first add a piece of taro, then meat, then a leaf… Don’t pack them too tightly; leave space so the marinade soaks in faster…"
Their sleeves brushed, knees occasionally touching.
Xie Qi’s ears burned red as he lowered his gaze. From the corner of his eye, a loose strand of her hair, tousled by the wind, drifted onto his shoulder.
