The Third Prince held out the plate of hibiscus cakes a little farther, his voice brimming with eagerness.
“Try this first. The pastry chef newly brought in from Suzhou is exceptionally skilled at making desserts.”
Before Shi Huai could reach out, Shen Jinghong had already taken the plate of hibiscus cakes away from in front of him.
“Your Highness, Shi Huai doesn’t like things that are too sweet. Just looking at the color, I can tell you’ve put in too much sugar.”
The Third Prince’s expression darkened slightly. His voice remained even, but a hint of coldness had entered his eyes.
“When did Young Master Shen become Shi Huai’s personal food steward? Are you the one who decides whether he likes sweet things?”
Shen Jinghong placed the hibiscus cakes back on the stone table and dusted off his hands, his smile not fading in the slightest.
“Shi Huai and I have been classmates for years. Of course I know what he likes and doesn’t like.”
Wang Ren, listening from the side, was dumbfounded. He nearly dropped the food box in his hands, the dimples in his round cheeks deepening and fading with his shifting expression.
His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally managed to say, “Um... osmanthus pastries aren’t sweet either. Shi Huai, try one.”
He opened the food box. Inside, more than a dozen golden osmanthus pastries were arranged in neat rows, giving off a faint floral fragrance. They looked positively irresistible.
Shi Huai reached out and took a bite.
The flaky crust crumbled in his mouth, and the delicate fragrance of osmanthus, accompanied by just the right amount of sweetness, slowly spread across his tongue.
He narrowed his eyes and nodded.
The look of satisfaction on his face made the breathing of the five people around him halt for a beat.
“Delicious.”
Shi Huai swallowed the pastry, wiped the crumbs from the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief, and looked up at Wang Ren.
Wang Ren was overjoyed by the praise. The dimples in his round face deepened until they looked like two little whirlpools, and his smile blossomed like a flower.
He nodded again and again, hurriedly closing the food box as though afraid the pastries would turn cold and lose their flavor.
The Third Prince watched Wang Ren’s smug expression, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
He lowered his eyes to the plate of hibiscus cakes he had brought, then looked up at the satisfied smile still lingering on Shi Huai’s lips. His fingers clenched inside his sleeves.
The Third Prince cursed Wang Ren from head to toe in his mind, only to feel ridiculous the moment he finished.
He was the dignified Third Prince, yet here he was, jealous over the portly son of the Vice Minister of Revenue. If word got out, wouldn’t people laugh themselves to death?
But seeing how happily Shi Huai ate the osmanthus pastries Wang Ren had brought made his heart feel as though someone had poured in an entire bottle of aged vinegar. The sourness was so intense that even his teeth seemed to ache.
Lin Mo stood at the very edge of the group, holding a pot of Junshan Silver Needle tea. His face was red from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. His lips trembled several times before he finally squeezed out a sentence as faint as the buzz of a mosquito.
“Brother Shi Huai... the... the tea is going cold...”
Shi Huai looked up at him, took the teapot from his hands, and poured himself a cup.
The tea was a pale golden color, gleaming warmly inside the white porcelain cup. Wisps of steam curled upward from its rim. He took a sip, his eyes curving slightly, and gave Lin Mo a gentle smile.
“Excellent tea. Thank you, Brother Lin.”
That single “Brother Lin” and the smile accompanying it sent Lin Mo floating. His feet felt as though he were walking on cotton, soft and weightless.
He waved his hands several times in a fluster, then turned and left, walking so quickly that he seemed to be fleeing. The pale-blue hem of his robe flashed once in the corridor before vanishing from sight.
Shen Jinghong watched Lin Mo’s retreating back, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. Inwardly, he cursed him for being so useless.
Then he turned around and held out the rare book in his hands to Shi Huai. His voice was lazy, but the smile in his eyes was unusually earnest.
“The rare edition of Shih Pin you wanted. I had someone track it down in Jiangnan. See if it’s the right version.”
Shi Huai accepted the book and glanced at the title page. His eyes lit up at once.
They were like two exquisitely polished black opals, shimmering with flecks of light beneath the afternoon sun.
His fingers brushed lightly over the pages, and his voice carried a hint of excitement he could barely suppress.
“It is this edition! Brother Shen, where did you find it?”
The sight of those bright, sparkling eyes made Shen Jinghong’s heart race. The tips of his ears flushed faintly red.
He leaned against the trunk of the plum tree, folding his arms as he tried to maintain his usual air of effortless composure.
“I had a friend look through an old bookstall in Jinling and happen upon it. It wasn’t expensive—only a few taels of silver.”
He wasn’t telling the truth.
He had sent seven or eight people to search for this rare edition of Shih Pin. It had taken more than three months, led them across four or five provinces, and cost several hundred taels of silver before they finally found it.
But he didn’t want Shi Huai to know any of that. He didn’t want Shi Huai to feel indebted to him, much less distance himself because of it.
He wanted Shi Huai to think that finding it had been nothing more than a simple favor, effortless and insignificant.
That way, Shi Huai could accept it without feeling burdened.
Then the next time he gave him something, Shi Huai wouldn’t refuse. And the time after that, he wouldn’t refuse either. Nor the time after that...
Shen Jinghong silently applauded his own little scheme. His expression remained calm and unconcerned, his peach-blossom eyes half-lidded and the corners of his lips curved in a lazy smile. He looked utterly indifferent.
The Third Prince stood to one side, watching the way Shi Huai’s eyes lit up when he accepted Shen Jinghong’s book. It felt as though someone were cutting into his heart with a dull knife, again and again. The pain nearly stole his breath.
He had brought pastries from the imperial kitchens, delicacies even the Emperor had praised, treasured treats beloved by the palace consorts.
Yet in Shi Huai’s eyes, that plate of hibiscus cakes was worth less than a battered old book from Shen Jinghong.
The Third Prince drew a deep breath and forced the bitterness down into his chest. Only after holding it there for a long while did he finally let it out, his face once again settling into a composed and graceful smile.
He walked over to Shi Huai, picked up the neglected plate of hibiscus cakes, and spoke in the same gentle tone as before.
“Shi Huai, won’t you try one? This really isn’t sweet. I specifically told the chef in the imperial kitchens to use less sugar.”
Shi Huai glanced up at him and took a hibiscus cake from the plate, biting into it.
The cake was soft and delicate, melting in his mouth with a faint fragrance of lotus blossoms. It truly wasn’t sweet, and it was far more delicious than he had expected.
He took another bite, narrowing his eyes as he nodded.
“Delicious.”
Those two words and that faint, satisfied smile sent the Third Prince’s heart pounding. His fingers clenched violently around the edge of the plate, his knuckles turning white as though he might crush the porcelain between them.
He struggled to maintain his outward calm, but his voice still betrayed a slight tremor.
“If you like them, I’ll have him make more tomorrow.”
Shen Jinghong listened to the exchange from the side. His peach-blossom eyes narrowed slightly, and the lazy smile at the corners of his lips grew cold.
He looked at the Third Prince’s face, so full of eagerness and ingratiation, and silently cursed him for having no shame.
What skill was there in borrowing someone else’s flowers to offer as a gift?
The pastry chef in the imperial kitchens didn’t belong to him. Those kitchens belonged to the entire imperial household. He was merely taking advantage of the privileges that came with being a prince.
If he had any ability, he could learn to make them himself—like Lin Mo and Wang Ren had. Making something with his own hands was what showed true sincerity.
