Shen Xiabai raised his hand, intending to gently smooth the furrowed brow of Cui Yunchu.
But the moment he extended his hand, Cui Qingyuan frowned and stepped back a pace.
Shen Xiabai’s expression remained calm as he took a step forward, his cool fingertips still coming to rest on Cui Yunchu’s forehead.
Cui Yunchu’s brow was smoothed flat, but Cui Qingyuan’s own frown deepened so much it could have crushed a mosquito between its creases.
Yu Feng stood there, utterly dumbfounded. With such a tug-of-war going on, anyone who didn’t know better would have thought his master and Prime Minister Cui were… involved.
Cui Qingyuan refused to let him touch her; Shen Xiabai insisted on doing so anyway.
The two stood locked in silent stalemate, the air around them thick and tense. Shen Xiabai’s audacity was such that he clearly did not regard Cui Qingyuan as his future father-in-law at all.
“If Lord Shen has nothing else to say, you may take your leave. Thank you for escorting my daughter home today,” Cui Qingyuan said coldly.
Shen Xiabai lifted his eyes languidly, his tone equally indifferent. “The one who should be offering thanks is me. Thank you, Prime Minister Cui, for seeing A Chu back to her courtyard.”
Then he took another half step forward, his gaze sweeping across Cui Yunchu’s face, his voice low and mild as he added, “But there is one thing I’d like to remind you of, Prime Minister Cui.” He paused. “In official circles, there can never be both a father and a son who hold great power simultaneously. You should understand the principle of one rising as the other falls.”
With that, he gave a faint smile, paid no heed to the ugliness of the Prime Minister’s expression, and turned to leave the Cui residence.
Cui Qingyuan stood at the gate for a long time, watching Shen Xiabai board his carriage, his face dark and heavy.
The Shen carriage curved around and paused briefly beside Cui Qingyuan. “The wind outside is strong. Prime Minister Cui’s skin is thick and worn, no matter, but A Chu’s health can’t withstand it. You’d best return to the house sooner rather than later.”
After Shen Xiabai finished speaking, Yu Feng cracked the whip, and the carriage took off at once.
His master tonight—truly, he had been utterly rampant, so reckless it made Yu Feng afraid.
“Giddy up! Giddy up, giddy up! Horse, run fast! To the princess’s manor—I’ll beat her to death!” Cui Yunchu suddenly started making a fuss.
Cui Qingyuan frowned slightly, glanced down at her, and turned to walk back toward the residence.
Cui Yunchu chattered on without a pause the entire way, drawing the stares of the servants in the Cui household. Cui Qingyuan said nothing, simply escorting her all the way back to the First Garden.
Nanny Zhang stood frozen for a good long while, then shot a look at Xing’er, who had lagged behind and didn’t dare make a sound.
Today had been a disaster of epic proportions. What she feared most was the Prime Minister ordering the young lady to kneel in the ancestral hall—on such a cold day, she might freeze to death.
Fortunately, the Prime Minister made no such mention. He paced around the room, spotted the bed, and walked over to lay Cui Yunchu down.
“He tricked me. You’re not a horse—you’re an old thing.” Cui Yunchu kicked her legs restlessly in displeasure.
“A horse. I want a horse. Where’s my horse?”
Xing’er quickly stepped forward, covered her mouth, and pulled the blanket over her. “Young lady, you’ve had too much to drink. Go to sleep now.”
Cui Qingyuan didn’t leave. Instead, he stood at the head of the bed, looking down in silence at the restless Cui Yunchu.
After a long while, he spoke in a low voice, instructing Xing’er, “Not a word of what happened tonight leaves this house.”
“I understand, Master.”
The Prime Minister waved his hand, signaling them to withdraw.
Xing’er was stunned.
If they all left, what would happen to the young lady? And with no sign that the Prime Minister intended to go—he couldn’t be so angry that he meant to strangle her, could he?
Cui Yunchu, meanwhile, was still pouring oil on the fire, spitting out words like “nasty old man who plays favorites” without pause.
“Out,” the Prime Minister’s voice deepened. Xing’er cast aside her wild thoughts, grabbed Nanny Zhang, and hurried out.
Nanny Zhang hesitated, unwilling to leave, but was dragged away all the same.
Cui Yunchu stared at him with a pair of bleary, unfocused eyes, rambling on about nonsense, but her gaze seemed entirely clouded by drunkenness, unable to see the man standing before her bed.
The Prime Minister bent down, tucked the kicked-off blanket back over her, then pulled up a chair and sat beside her.
“The horse will come tomorrow. Sleep.”
Cui Yunchu gave an “oh” and hugged her soft pillow, suddenly looking a little unhappy. “I don’t want the princess’s horse. I want mine. The horse that’s mine.”
“Mm.” The Prime Minister didn’t understand what she meant, but he would go along with whatever she said.
Soon enough, Cui Yunchu calmed down, tilting her head and drifting off to sleep with the pillow in her arms.
Time passed slowly. The doors and windows in the room were shut tight, the silence broken only by Cui Yunchu’s occasional murmurs in her sleep.
“Yunchu,” the Prime Minister suddenly spoke. “Do you like that boy from the Shen family?”
Half-awake, half-asleep, Cui Yunchu nodded her head like a chicken pecking at rice, then turned over and fell into a deep, complete slumber.
The moon hung high overhead, only a sliver of its light spilling into the room. Xing’er and Nanny Zhang waited anxiously at the door. It was unclear how long passed before the doors finally opened.
Nanny Zhang bowed quickly and rushed inside. Only when she saw Cui Yunchu sleeping soundly and peacefully did the heart that had been lodged in her throat finally settle.
“Take good care of your young lady,” the Prime Minister instructed Xing’er.
He walked to the middle of the courtyard and suddenly paused, turning back to look at the room where Cui Yunchu lay sleeping. He stood there a long moment before finally walking away.
He had heard the “I like you” from inside the carriage.
Her voice had been soft—nothing like the unruly way she had spoken since childhood, with none of the sarcasm or irony.
The last time she had spoken that way was that night outside his study, when she asked him if he ever regretted bringing her into this world.
The wind was cold, slightly biting. For the first time, Prime Minister Cui realized just how far the path from the First Garden stretched to his own courtyard. He had walked it many times before, but this was the first time he walked it as a father.
Back at the residence, Yu Feng immediately began laying out paper and grinding ink, neatly arranging the official documents Shen Xiabai reviewed each day.
But when he turned around, he found his master had already washed and changed into a plain white robe, lounging on the soft couch, staring blankly at a painting on the wall.
“Master, are you… not handling official business today?”
His master always reviewed the day’s documents the very same day—years on end, without a single break.
Shen Xiabai, however, just shook his head. He propped his chin on one hand, his eyes fixed only on the painting—or more precisely, on the woman in the painting.
Yu Feng thought the scholar who had sold that painting to his master had gotten the short end of the deal. For such a masterpiece, his master would likely have handed over half the Shen family’s treasury without hesitation.
That man had missed his one chance to strike it rich.
Yu Feng could only extinguish the candle on the desk and stand behind Shen Xiabai, staring at the painting along with him.
A face. Two eyes. A nose. Stare at it long enough, and suddenly you no longer recognize the person in the painting—just like when you stare at a single character for too long and it stops looking like itself.
His eyes growing tired, Yu Feng began to roll them around aimlessly. He glanced at his master again—still like a statue, eyes unmoving for what felt like ages.
Bored out of his skull, he poured Shen Xiabai a cup of tea. “Master, it’s getting late. If you’re not going to go through the documents, you might as well go to sleep.”
“Not sleepy.”
“…”
Yu Feng: I can see that.
Time trickled by. Yu Feng couldn’t say how long it had been, but he was terribly drowsy. Yet every time he started to nod off, Shen Xiabai would abruptly ask him something.
“Don’t you think her voice, when she’s drunk, is very soft? Pleasant to the ear.”
Yu Feng had served him for years—who knew his master’s habits better than he did? “Indeed, Master. Especially when Eldest Miss Cui said she likes you—that voice of hers was soft enough to drip water.”
Shen Xiabai laughed low and quiet.
“Master, are you truly not sleepy?” Yu Feng scrunched up his face.
Even if he was happy, surely the excitement ought to have cooled by now.
Shen Xiabai, I like you—that's just seven words in total, and even with punctuation, only eight, but they're enough to savor over ten thousand times.
He squinted, glanced at his master, who was propping up her forehead and staring at the painting, and slowly blinked.
Likely she was savoring from the very beginning of their acquaintance.
Indeed, it had been a rough and winding road, and for his master to have reached this point today, it truly hadn't been easy.
"Master," he said, "what if Eldest Miss Cui wakes up tomorrow and just forgets all about it—and doesn't admit to anything? What then?"
