By the time the carriage set out from the palace gates, dusk had nearly fallen.
Twilight surged in from every direction, mingling with the snow that filled the sky.
It was impossible to tell which patches were snow and which were dusk. The whole world had become a hazy gray-white blur.
Shi Huai leaned against the carriage wall with his eyes closed, his lashes casting a small fan-shaped shadow beneath them.
They trembled lightly with the carriage’s swaying, like a butterfly perched on a flower petal, fluttering its wings ever so gently in the wind.
Qinghe sat beside him. She held a blanket, wanting to cover him but afraid of waking him. After hesitating for quite some time, she finally draped it over his shoulders as quietly as she could.
When her fingers brushed his shoulder, she flinched as though she had been burned.
A hurried clatter of hooves sounded outside the carriage, drawing nearer by the moment.
It was accompanied by Wang Ren’s full-throated shout:
“Shi Huai, are you asleep? Do you want to come to my house for dinner? My cook made braised pork knuckle today!”
Shi Huai opened his eyes, still carrying the hazy look of someone newly awakened.
His eyes were like a lake ruffled by the spring breeze, rippling with luminous waves that made anyone who looked into them want to sink beneath the surface.
“Brother Wang, it’s too late today. Perhaps another time.”
Shi Huai lifted the curtain and leaned out.
The light of dusk fell across his face. In the gray-white glow of the sky, his features resembled those of a finely carved white jade statue.
Wang Ren sat astride his horse. The dimples in his round face deepened and softened by turns, while the smile at the corners of his mouth refused to fade.
Puffs of white breath billowed from his lips, like a puppy romping joyfully through the snow.
“Then it’s settled! You must come next time! I’ll have the dishes prepared and waiting for you!”
Wang Ren’s voice scattered into the wind and snow, carrying a childlike persistence and a warmth no one could bear to refuse.
The carriage turned onto the street where the Yongning Marquis Residence stood. From far away, two lanterns could be seen hanging above its vermilion gates.
Their orange-yellow glow looked especially warm against the snowy night, like a lighthouse shining across an endless sea of snow.
Qinghe jumped down first and reached up to help Shi Huai from the carriage. She then straightened the collar of his robe, which had been blown askew by the wind.
All the while, she chattered about how he should hurry inside and not catch cold.
When Shi Huai entered Shou’an Hall, Nanny Zhou had already prepared dinner.
There were four dishes and a soup on the table, all of them Shi Huai’s favorites. Candlelight danced around the room, bathing everything in a soft, warm orange glow.
Tangerine leaped down from the windowsill and walked over to Shi Huai’s feet with elegant steps.
It rubbed its head against his boot and let out a soft, sweet “meow,” as if saying, You’re finally home.
Shi Huai bent down and scooped Tangerine into his arms. He sat at the table, picked up his bowl, and placed a mouthful of stir-fried vegetables into his mouth.
He chewed, then narrowed his eyes in contentment. The expression on his face perfectly matched that of the Tangerine in his arms.
In the days that followed, Shi Huai’s life underwent subtle changes.
First came a letter from the Crown Prince.
The invitation, written on gilded paper, read: “His Highness the Crown Prince respectfully invites Young Master Shi Huai to visit the Eastern Palace on the eighteenth day of the twelfth lunar month.”
The handwriting was neat and forceful. At a glance, one could tell that it had been written personally by the Crown Prince, demonstrating just how seriously he regarded the invitation.
When Shi Yuanzhi saw the letter, his hands began to tremble—not from fear, but from excitement.
He had never dreamed that he—or rather, his son—would one day receive a personal invitation from His Highness the Crown Prince.
That very day, he sent someone to have a new outfit made for Shi Huai.
The dark-blue brocade was embroidered with subtle silver patterns, while a band of white fox fur lined the collar and cuffs.
It was opulent without being ostentatious.
Against it, Shi Huai looked like a noble young lord who had stepped straight out of a painting.
When Madam Liu heard the news, she was sitting on the couch in Qingzhi Court, drinking tea. The teacup in her hand hit the floor with a sharp clatter and shattered into several pieces. Tea splashed across the ground, soaking the hem of her skirt.
Her face went white as paper. Her lips trembled, but for a long while she could not utter a word. Her fingers clenched inside her sleeves until her knuckles turned pale, and her nails dug into her palms, leaving row upon row of bloody marks.
Shi Lingyi was there as well. She lifted the teacup before her and took a sip, her lowered lashes concealing the turbulent emotions in her eyes, while the corners of her lips curled faintly upward.
The curve was so slight that it was almost impossible to notice.
But Madam Liu saw it, and a chill spread through her back.
“Mother, don’t be anxious. It’s a good thing that Little Brother has made something of himself. It benefits both the marquis’s residence and our family.”
Shi Lingyi set down her teacup and looked at Madam Liu, her face wearing a gentle, perfectly composed smile.
It seemed flawless, but in her daughter’s eyes, Madam Liu caught a trace of ruthlessness that could not be concealed.
Shi Youlan, on the other hand, understood nothing of the situation. She came bounding into Shou’an Hall, seized Shi Huai’s hand, and hopped up and down.
“Little Brother, you’re going to the Eastern Palace! Can I go too?”
Shi Huai was jostled until he felt dizzy. He reached out, pressed down on her shoulders, and held her firmly in place. With a helpless sigh, he said,
“Second Sister, His Highness the Crown Prince invited only me. You can’t go.”
Shi Youlan pouted. Her eyes reddened, and tears began to shimmer in them, though she stubbornly refused to let them fall. She wiped them clumsily with her sleeve, her voice thick with sobs.
“Then tell me what the Eastern Palace looks like when you come back.”
Shi Huai nodded and flicked her lightly on the forehead.
The force was gentle, but the sound was crisp. Shi Youlan covered her forehead and cried, “Ow!” Then she broke into laughter, her tears and smile mixing together in a thoroughly disheveled expression.
On the eighteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, the snow stopped.
The sky remained gray and hazy, but a faint line of pale dawn appeared along the eastern horizon.
Shi Huai wore a newly tailored dark-blue brocade robe, with a silvery-gray fox-fur cloak draped over his shoulders.
There were few pedestrians on Chang’an Street. Only a handful of laborers tasked with clearing the snow were busy along the roadside.
Bamboo brooms made a soft, rustling sound as they swept across the snow.
Shi Huai lifted the curtain and looked outside.
Long icicles hung from the eaves of the roadside buildings, sparkling with crystalline light in the morning glow like rows of inverted crystal curtains.
The Eastern Palace stood to the east of the imperial palace and covered an enormous area. Its buildings were grander than those of the Yongning Marquis Residence by countless times.
A thin layer of snow covered the vermilion palace walls, while the golden glazed tiles glittered with scattered points of light beneath the morning sun.
The Crown Prince personally came to the gate to receive him. He wore an apricot-yellow python robe.
A white jade belt encircled his waist. With his handsome face and bright, star-like eyes, he stood before the vermilion gates like a tall, straight poplar.
When he saw the carriage approaching from a distance, he unconsciously took two steps forward. His fingers tightened inside his sleeves, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as though he were struggling to suppress some surging emotion.
Shi Huai jumped down from the carriage.
His dark-blue brocade robe flowed across the snow like a stroke of ink, while the silvery-gray fox fur lifted gently in the morning breeze. Several strands of his jet-black hair had slipped free of his hairpin and fallen over his shoulder.
The Crown Prince watched him step down from the carriage, and it felt as though someone had suddenly seized his heart in a powerful grip.
His breath caught for a beat. He stood frozen for several seconds before finally coming back to himself.
