“All right, all right, stop arguing. You’re teaching me how to play cuju, not competing to see who can argue the loudest.”
Shi Huai’s voice was not loud, but it was like a basin of warm water poured over a pile of burning coals. Steam hissed up, and everyone fell silent.
The Crown Prince stepped forward then and patted Shi Huai on the shoulder. There was an effortless familiarity in the gesture that made several people nearby grit their teeth at once.
“I’ll teach you. I learned cuju from the Grand Tutor, so my movements are proper. I won’t let you get hurt.”
The Crown Prince’s voice carried a calm, assured confidence. His fingers lingered on Shi Huai’s shoulder a beat longer than ordinary social courtesy required.
Shi Huai nodded and followed the Crown Prince toward the center of the field. In the sunlight, his moon-white riding outfit looked like a drifting cloud, while his raven-black hair lifted lightly in the breeze with every step.
Zhao Huan remained where he was, watching Shi Huai’s back. His lips pursed in a pout. When he turned to look at Xie Zhaolin, he found that Xie Zhaolin was watching that same retreating figure.
Their gazes collided in midair. They both looked away, then both turned back for another glance, their silent understanding so perfect it seemed rehearsed.
Shen Jinghong leaned against one of the viewing platform’s pillars. At some point, a folding fan had appeared in his hand. He spun it between his fingers several times before snapping it shut with a crisp sound.
The Third Prince stood beside him, his pale green riding clothes swaying gently in the breeze.
He did not look at Shen Jinghong. His eyes remained fixed on the moon-white figure in the center of the field.
“Young Master Shen, don’t you think there are more and more people?”
The Third Prince’s voice was so soft that it seemed meant only for himself and Shen Jinghong.
“Enough to make one uncomfortable.”
The fan in Shen Jinghong’s hand paused. He turned his head and glanced at the Third Prince, his expression as complicated as a palette overturned and stirred until no color could be distinguished from another.
“Is Your Highness referring to the people on the cuju field, or the people elsewhere?”
The Third Prince turned to meet Shen Jinghong’s eyes. They both looked away at the same time, then both turned their gazes toward the moon-white figure learning to kick the ball in the center of the field.
“It’s all the same.”
The Third Prince’s voice was as soft as a breeze that passed and vanished without leaving a trace.
Shen Jinghong did not reply. He spun the fan between his fingers several more times, his peach-blossom eyes half-lidded as no one could tell what he was thinking.
In the center of the field, the Crown Prince was teaching Shi Huai the basic movements of cuju.
He stood behind Shi Huai, correcting his posture hand over hand. Their bodies were unavoidably pressed close together.
“That’s it. Use the inside of your foot to make contact with the ball. Don’t use too much force. First, get a feel for it.”
The Crown Prince’s voice was low and gentle, completely unlike the lofty heir apparent he usually was.
His right hand hovered around Shi Huai’s waist without actually touching him, but the distance was so close that everyone watching turned red-eyed with jealousy.
Zhao Huan watched from the sidelines, gnashing his teeth. The waterskin in his hand had been squeezed out of shape.
Water seeped through the cracks, soaking his fingers and sleeve, but he did not notice.
Xie Zhaolin stood beside him, his eyes likewise fixed on the Crown Prince’s hand hovering around Shi Huai’s waist. His knuckles creaked from the force of his grip, and his face was flushed as though he had downed an entire jar of strong liquor.
“Do you think he’s doing it on purpose?” Zhao Huan asked through clenched teeth.
“What are you talking about?”
Xie Zhaolin’s voice was equally low, his displeasure carefully restrained.
“That posture! Does he really need to stand so close just to teach someone how to play cuju? Shi Huai isn’t three years old. Is there any need to guide him hand over hand through such basic movements?”
Zhao Huan’s voice grew louder as he spoke. By the end, he had nearly lost control of his volume.
Xie Zhaolin reached out and covered his mouth, warning him in a low voice, “Keep it down. That’s the Crown Prince. Do you want to die?”
Zhao Huan made a muffled sound and forcefully pulled Xie Zhaolin’s hand away. He took a deep breath. Though he lowered his voice, the fury in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest.
“So what if he’s the Crown Prince? That means he can do whatever he wants?”
Xie Zhaolin glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Yes, it does. The Crown Prince really can do whatever he wants. If you’re unhappy about it, you can go become the Crown Prince yourself.”
Those words nearly choked Zhao Huan to death. His face flushed crimson. With an angry snort, he hurled the already misshapen waterskin onto the ground.
Wang Ren came trotting over from the side.
His round face was covered in a broad smile, and he carried a tray topped with several cups of iced sour-plum drink.
“Shi Huai! Have some sour-plum drink! It’s iced—it’ll cool you down!”
Wang Ren’s booming voice echoed several times across the open cuju field.
He jogged all the way over with the tray in his hands, trampling the grass beneath his feet until it bent in every direction. Several times, he nearly fell over, tray and all.
Shi Huai stopped when he heard him shout. Turning around, he watched Wang Ren’s hurried approach. The corners of his lips lifted faintly as he accepted the sour-plum drink and took a small sip. His eyes narrowed in pleasure.
That narrowed-eyed smile left Wang Ren’s legs weak. He nearly dropped to his knees on the spot.
Flailing, he grabbed the nearby goalpost and managed to steady himself. His heart pounded as though it were about to leap out of his throat.
The Crown Prince’s hand was still held in the same position, hovering around Shi Huai’s waist. When Shi Huai stepped away, the hand remained suspended in midair.
Alone and forlorn, it looked almost comical.
The Crown Prince withdrew his hand and watched Shi Huai drink the sour-plum beverage with evident satisfaction. His throat bobbed once, and his gaze fell on the cup.
There was a faint imprint of lips along the rim.
He abruptly looked away, the tips of his ears quietly turning red.
At some point, Shen Jinghong had also walked over and stopped beside Shi Huai. He drew a handkerchief from his sleeve and offered it to him.
“You’ve got some drink at the corner of your mouth. Wipe it off.”
Shi Huai accepted the handkerchief, casually wiped his mouth twice, and handed it back.
“Thank you, Brother Shen.”
Shen Jinghong took the handkerchief. His fingers tightened around it.
It carried the scent of sour-plum drink, along with the faintest trace of soapberry fragrance.
He folded it neatly and tucked it into his sleeve.
The Third Prince watched everything from beginning to end. The corner of his mouth twitched faintly. He, too, took a handkerchief from his sleeve, rubbed it between his fingers, then slipped it back.
He no longer had a chance to offer it.
At that moment, a deep voice came from behind the crowd.
“Shi Huai?”
Shi Huai turned and saw a young man in black riding clothes walking toward them.
He was exceptionally tall, standing more than half a head above everyone else present. His shoulders were broad, his waist lean and powerful, and his entire person resembled a drawn blade.
Li Chengze, heir to the Duke of Cheng, was eighteen years old. He was the Empress’s nephew by blood and the Crown Prince’s maternal cousin. In the capital, he was renowned as a young general.
He had first gone to war at sixteen and killed countless enemies, earning a formidable reputation.
