The three of them stood beneath the plum tree for a long time—so long that the sky faded from gray-white to deep blue, and so long that eunuchs from the Eastern Palace came to light the lanterns.
Orange-yellow light spilled across the snow in warm halos, stretching their shadows long and thin until they overlapped, making it impossible to tell whose was whose.
Shi Huai was leaving.
The Crown Prince and Shen Jinghong both said they would see him off.
The two exchanged a glance, their gazes clashing in midair for a brief moment, sparks flying.
Neither was willing to yield an inch.
“Your Highness, Brother Shen, please stay here. I can leave on my own.”
Shi Huai bowed to them both, then turned and walked toward the Eastern Palace’s main gate.
His silver-gray fox fur cloak looked like a drifting cloud in the dusk, while his raven-black hair lifted gently in the wind.
The Crown Prince remained where he stood, watching Shi Huai’s figure disappear beyond the moon gate. He clutched the handkerchief that had wiped the snowmelt from Shi Huai’s face so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
He drew in a deep breath and held it in his chest for a long time before finally letting it out. Then he turned and walked back toward the main hall, his steps much heavier than when he had arrived.
Shen Jinghong also remained where he was, still holding the small piece of bark that had brushed against his hand when he plucked the plum blossom.
He brought the bark beneath his nose and inhaled.
It carried the clean, fresh scent of soapberry soap left behind by Shi Huai’s fingertips.
By the time the carriage departed from the Eastern Palace, night had already fallen.
The shops along Chang’an Street had closed for the evening. Only a few lanterns still glowed, casting warm orange halos across the snow.
Shi Huai leaned against the carriage wall with his eyes closed, still holding the plum branch Shen Jinghong had given him.
The cool fragrance of the blossoms mingled with the warmth of the charcoal brazier inside the carriage, light and delicate.
His lashes cast a small fan-shaped shadow beneath his eyes, trembling gently with the carriage’s rocking, as though he were having a very long dream.
Qinghe sat beside him. She held a blanket, wanting to cover him with it but afraid of waking him. After hesitating for quite some time, she finally draped it over his shoulders as lightly and quietly as she could.
Her gaze fell on the plum branch in his hands. A sapphire-blue ribbon had been tied around it—the one Shen Jinghong had added himself.
Qinghe looked at the ribbon, the corner of her mouth twitching faintly. Inwardly, she muttered, Young Master Shen is really something else.
When the carriage stopped outside the Yongning Marquis’s Residence, Shi Huai opened his eyes.
They were still clouded with the haziness of sleep, like a lake ruffled by a spring breeze.
He yawned and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.
The gesture was naturally languid and unconcerned, yet it made Qinghe’s heart skip a beat when she lifted the carriage curtain and saw him.
“Young Master, you must be tired today. Nanny Zhou has stewed some chicken soup. Go inside and have a bowl to warm yourself up.”
Qinghe’s voice sounded slightly breathless. Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment before darting away. She lowered her head and pretended to straighten the carriage curtain, while the tips of her ears flushed as red as if they might drip blood.
Shi Huai jumped down from the carriage and handed the plum branch to Qinghe.
“Put it in a vase. Be careful not to damage it. Brother Shen gave it to me.”
His voice still held the huskiness of just waking, yet instead of sounding harsh, it possessed an indescribable magnetism.
Qinghe accepted the plum branch. She lowered her head to look at the sapphire-blue ribbon, then glanced up at Shi Huai’s retreating back.
A strange, inexplicable feeling welled up inside her.
She had the distinct impression that there was something improper about Young Master Shen giving a flower and tying a ribbon around it, but she couldn’t quite say what.
When Shi Huai entered Shou’an Hall, Nanny Zhou was sewing by lamplight. The needle and thread danced through the candlelight. Though her movements had slowed considerably, they remained steady.
Hearing footsteps, she looked up. The wrinkles on her face smoothed in the candlelight as she set down her needlework and rose.
“Young Master, you’re back? Are you hungry? The kitchen still has some chicken soup warming.”
Shi Huai sat down beside the table and took a sip of the chicken soup Nanny Zhou handed him.
The warm broth flowed from his throat to his stomach, and heat spread outward from within.
He narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in contentment. His expression was exactly like Tangerine curled up on the windowsill for a nap.
Watching him drink his soup, Nanny Zhou’s eyes grew slightly red. She wiped the corners of them with her sleeve, her voice hoarse.
“Young Master, did you suffer any grievances in the Eastern Palace? Did His Highness make things difficult for you?”
Shi Huai set down his bowl and shook his head, a faint smile resting on his lips.
“Don’t worry, Nanny Zhou. His Highness has treated me very well. Brother Shen was there too. No one gave me any trouble.”
At the words “Brother Shen was there too,” Nanny Zhou’s brows drew together slightly. Her lips moved as though she wanted to say something, but in the end, she swallowed it back.
She had served in the marquis’s household for decades. What sort of storms had she not seen?
After all, what great aristocratic family was free of its share of sordid secrets? Even when the old marquis had still been alive…
Nanny Zhou had seen through the way Shen Jinghong looked at Shi Huai at a single glance.
It was simply something she neither dared nor could say aloud.
The days passed one after another, and before long, the end of the year arrived.
The Imperial College went on holiday, so Shi Huai no longer had to rise early for lessons every day. But the number of visitors to the marquis’s residence multiplied several times over.
There were noble families bringing New Year gifts, court officials delivering calling cards, and fellow students using all sorts of excuses to come “seek his guidance” on poetry and literature.
The threshold of the Yongning Marquis’s Residence was nearly worn away, and the gatekeeper’s legs had grown thin from running back and forth.
Even Tangerine was frightened by the constant coming and going and had retreated to the rafters, refusing to come down.
Qinghe was busy from dawn to dusk, receiving guests, serving tea, and seeing people in and out. She wore a smile from morning until night, until even her cheeks ached.
Whenever no one was looking, she secretly rubbed her face. Then she would put the smile back on and continue working, like a tireless little bee.
Half of these visitors had come because of Shi Huai, and the other half had come because of his reputation. In the end, they had all come because of Shi Huai.
Some wanted to see what the legendary “fairy child” looked like. Some wished to curry favor with Shi Huai and build a connection. Others had come at the request of daughters in their families, hoping to “take a look” at Shi Huai as a potential match.
The Liu family’s First Madam was a representative of the last group.
This was already her third visit to the marquis’s residence. Each time, she brought a different niece or granddaughter, claiming that she had come “to visit her younger sister.”
That younger sister was Madam Liu.
Yet from the moment she stepped through the door, her gaze kept drifting toward the direction of Shou’an Hall, so often that her neck was nearly sore.
Shi Huai knew exactly why these people had come.
He simply couldn’t be bothered to deal with them.
Whenever someone came to visit, he hid in the study and refused to appear, sending Qinghe out to say that he had “caught a chill and was unfit to receive guests.”
Every time Qinghe said this, she felt guilty.
Shi Huai’s complexion was rosier and healthier than anyone’s. No one looking at him would believe he had caught a chill.
Shen Jinghong was the only person who could enter Shou’an Hall without submitting a calling card.
He came more often than anyone else—sometimes twice a day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, more punctually than he had ever attended lessons at the Imperial College.
Each time, he brought something different. Sometimes it was a box of pastries, sometimes a painting or calligraphy scroll, and sometimes a pot of orchids in full bloom.
There was always some reason for him to pay a visit.
