“Fish is what I want; bear’s paw is also what I want. If I cannot have both, I will give up the fish and choose the bear’s paw. Life is what I want; righteousness is also what I want. If I cannot have both, I will give up my life and choose righteousness.”
Shi Huai’s voice echoed through the quiet classroom. Every word was enunciated with crystal clarity, his tone rising and falling, his pacing perfectly measured.
Not a single person in the classroom moved. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on him.
The brush in Wang Ren’s hand hovered in midair, forgotten, as the ink bled into a large black blot on the rice paper.
Shen Jinghong’s hand slipped from beneath his chin, and he nearly struck his face against the desk, yet he remained oblivious.
His peach-shaped eyes were half-lidded, his amber pupils holding nothing but the figure standing there reciting his lesson.
Gu Changning lifted his head from his book. His gaze passed over the top edge of the pages and settled on Shi Huai’s face. His usually cold, sharply angled eyes appeared calm and unruffled, but beneath the surface, emotions were surging wildly.
He looked only once before lowering his head again. The book in his hand turned a page, but he did not take in a single word.
After listening to Shi Huai’s recitation, Lu Yanli nodded, a faint smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.
It was a very faint smile, so faint it was almost impossible to see.
Yet those familiar with him knew that Lu Yanli never smiled. Shi Huai was the first—and the only—student who had ever drawn such an expression from him.
“You recited it very well. Sit down.”
Lu Yanli opened his lesson notes and began explaining the passage line by line.
He explained everything in meticulous detail, starting with the literal meaning and moving on to its moral principles, the commentaries of scholars throughout the ages, and finally his own interpretation, unfolding each layer one by one.
Yet his gaze kept drifting unconsciously toward Shi Huai. Each time, it lingered for a moment before darting away as though it had been burned.
At noon, during the break, Shi Huai remained in his seat and opened the lunch box Qinghe had prepared.
The box had two tiers. The upper one held several small dishes and a bowl of rice; the lower one contained a bowl of chicken soup and a small plate of fruit.
Sister Qinghe’s cooking had been getting better and better.
The dishes were simple, but every one of them had been prepared with care. They were exquisite in appearance, aroma, and flavor.
Shen Jinghong was the first to come over. He was carrying a lunch box of his own, which contained Eight-Treasure Duck and several delicate side dishes prepared by the Shen family’s kitchen.
He set the box down on Shi Huai’s desk without bothering to ask whether Shi Huai wanted it, then sat directly across from him. Picking up his chopsticks, he placed a piece of duck into Shi Huai’s bowl.
“Try it. It’s much better than the lotus pastries from Wang Ren’s household.”
Wang Ren came over carrying a plate of pastries. When he heard this, his face darkened. He set the plate down heavily, and it gave a dull thud against the tabletop.
“Shen Jinghong, what exactly do you mean? What’s wrong with the lotus pastries? You ate three this morning, and now you’re saying they aren’t good?”
“I said it was better than the lotus pastries. I never said the lotus pastries were bad. Is there something wrong with your ears?”
Shen Jinghong raised his peach-shaped eyes, a provocative smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He leisurely picked up another piece of Eight-Treasure Duck and put it in his mouth. After chewing twice, he deliberately let out a satisfied sigh.
Wang Ren was so angry that the flesh on his face trembled, but he did not continue arguing with Shen Jinghong. Instead, he turned toward Shi Huai.
The anger on his face instantly transformed into an ingratiating smile, deep dimples appearing in his round cheeks.
“Shi Huai, try the osmanthus sticky rice lotus root I brought. It’s made by my family’s cook too, and it’s much better than the Eight-Treasure Duck.”
Shi Huai watched the two jokers bicker back and forth and shook his head helplessly.
He picked up his bowl and took a mouthful of rice, then put a piece of Eight-Treasure Duck into his mouth and chewed it. After that, he tried a piece of osmanthus sticky rice lotus root as well. He set down his chopsticks, looked at the two faces filled with anticipation, and said seriously:
“They’re both delicious. You don’t have to bring me food every day. Sister Qinghe already prepares more than enough for me.”
Shen Jinghong and Wang Ren froze at the same time. They both looked at the lunch box on the table and realized that Shi Huai’s own meal was indeed quite substantial.
The two exchanged a glance, reading the same thought in each other’s eyes.
Shi Huai could never finish all the pastries and dishes they brought him. Most of them would probably go to waste.
But neither of them had any intention of stopping.
“If you can’t finish it, you can take it back for Sister Qinghe to eat. I’ll bring more tomorrow anyway.”
Shen Jinghong leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. His posture was so relaxed that he looked less like a student at the Imperial Academy and more like he was drinking tea in his own family’s reception hall. His peach-shaped eyes were filled with stubborn determination—
“So will I. I’ll bring more tomorrow too,” Wang Ren hurriedly declared.
His dimples sank deep into his round cheeks, and his smile was as guileless as ever. But the stubbornness in his eyes was exactly the same as Shen Jinghong’s.
Shi Huai looked at the two of them and sighed. He said nothing more, simply lowering his head and continuing his meal.
Sunlight streamed through the carved window lattice and fell across his lowered lashes, casting a small fan-shaped shadow beneath his eyes, trembling gently with every movement of his jaw, like a butterfly fluttering its wings upon a flower petal.
Watching Shi Huai eat, Shen Jinghong’s heartbeat once again lost its rhythm.
He had discovered that he was becoming less and less capable of controlling his gaze.
Whenever Shi Huai was near, his eyes seemed to take on a will of their own, clinging to Shi Huai’s figure.
From the strands of Shi Huai’s hair to the tips of his fingers, from his collar to his boots, Shen Jinghong refused to miss a single detail.
He had even begun remembering what color robes Shi Huai wore each day, what scent of incense he used, and which dish he habitually ate first...
These details were like tiny needles, piercing his heart one after another, leaving it aching and itching at the same time.
Shen Jinghong hated this feeling.
Who was he, Shen Jinghong?
The eldest legitimate grandson of Grand Secretary Shen, the younger brother of the Noble Consort, and one of the most untouchable young masters in the capital. He had possessed everything he wanted from the moment he was born. Never had anyone made him spare them a second glance, much less made him worry over them day and night.
And yet this youth, five years younger than him, had turned his heart upside down with nothing more than an ordinary smile and a polite, “Thank you, Brother Shen.”
Wang Ren was secretly watching Shi Huai as well, though he hid his feelings more deeply than Shen Jinghong did.
Because he knew that he could not compare with Shen Jinghong’s family background, his looks, or anything else about him...
He was merely the son of a Vice Minister of Revenue—a short, round-faced boy who looked as foolish as a simpleton whenever he smiled.
But he could not control himself. The first person he thought of when he opened his eyes each morning was Shi Huai, and the last person on his mind before he fell asleep each night was also Shi Huai.
He would rise an hour early to watch the cook prepare delicious pastries for Shi Huai. He would spend the entire day delighted over a single “It’s good” from Shi Huai, and lose an entire night of sleep because of one smile...
He knew these feelings were wrong. He also knew that Shi Huai would never look at him the same way.
But he could not stop.
It was as impossible as stopping himself from breathing.
