Shi Huai finished the last sip of his sour plum drink, set the cup down on the stone table, then stood and dusted off the hem of his robe.
He raised his head and glanced at the sky.
The sun had already begun to sink westward. The slanting autumn sunlight stained the entire cuju field a warm orange-red, while the distant eaves were reduced to black silhouettes against the glow.
The Crown Prince approached from behind with a cloak in hand and naturally draped it over Shi Huai’s shoulders.
His fingers lingered at the tie for a beat longer than necessary, as though he were doing something perfectly ordinary.
“The wind’s picked up. Don’t catch a chill.”
The Crown Prince’s voice was low and gentle. His apricot-yellow robe shimmered softly in the setting sun.
He lowered his head to fasten the cloak for Shi Huai, his slender fingers brushing lightly beneath Shi Huai’s chin.
The intimacy of the gesture made several people nearby grit their teeth at the same time.
Shen Jinghong watched the Crown Prince’s utterly self-assured expression, a cold smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His fingers clenched inside his sleeve until his knuckles turned white.
He cursed the Crown Prince from head to toe in his mind. After finishing, he realized he could not think of any new insults.
He had repeated the same words countless times already, so often that his ears were practically growing calluses.
The Third Prince stood several paces away, his pale green riding clothes snapping in the wind.
His gaze fell on the hands with which the Crown Prince was fastening Shi Huai’s cloak. His lips pressed into a thin line.
At the same time, his fingers moved unconsciously inside his sleeve, as though rehearsing the same motion.
Li Chengze was speaking with several scions of noble families at the other end of the field when his gaze swept over by chance.
When he saw the Crown Prince fastening Shi Huai’s cloak, his deep eyes darkened slightly, and the words in his mouth came to an abrupt halt.
The people beside him followed his gaze, then hastily looked away, lowering their heads and pretending they had noticed nothing.
Zhao Huan was squatting at the edge of the field, holding a foxtail grass stem and drawing circles in the dirt.
One circle after another.
Soon the ground was covered in crisscrossing marks.
He lifted his head to glance toward the Crown Prince and Shi Huai, then lowered it again and continued drawing circles, muttering something under his breath.
Xie Zhaolin, standing beside him, heard what he said and twitched slightly at the corner of his mouth. He lowered his voice.
“What are you muttering about?”
Zhao Huan viciously flung the foxtail grass to the ground, then looked up at Xie Zhaolin. His eyes were red, as though he were about to cry.
“You heard me perfectly well. Why are you asking?”
Xie Zhaolin was rendered somewhat speechless by his aggrieved expression. He reached out and patted Zhao Huan on the head, neither too lightly nor too hard.
“Stop thinking about it. Come on, let’s go back.”
Zhao Huan shrank his neck from the pat, then stood and dusted off the hem of his robe.
He glanced once more in Shi Huai’s direction.
Shi Huai was saying something to the Crown Prince, a faint smile curving his lips.
Zhao Huan’s nose stung, and he nearly burst into tears for real. He sucked in a hard breath and forced down the ache before turning and striding toward the carriage without looking back.
Wang Ren emerged from the crowd carrying an empty food box. The dimples in his round cheeks had faded, and the smile at the corners of his mouth had grown faint as well.
He stopped beside the carriage and looked at Zhao Huan, who was leaning against it in a daze. Then he walked over and stood beside him.
The two men whose hearts had been “wounded” by Shi Huai exchanged a glance and sighed at the same time.
“So you think there’s no hope either?”
Wang Ren’s voice was muffled and low, as though he were asking Zhao Huan—or perhaps asking himself.
Zhao Huan raised his head and looked at a cloud in the sky, dyed orange-red by the setting sun. He remained silent for a long while before speaking, his voice distant and airy.
“When have I ever had hope? I never did.”
Wang Ren’s heart tightened at those words. He lowered his head and stared at the tips of his shoes. Mud and bits of grass clung to his boots, leaving him looking utterly bedraggled.
“Then why did you come?”
Zhao Huan let out a bitter laugh and slapped the carriage shaft. He struck it hard enough to redden his palm, yet seemed not to feel any pain.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to see him. One look at him, and I feel like the day hasn’t been wasted.”
Wang Ren said nothing.
Because he felt the same way. One look, and the day felt worthwhile. Two looks, and he felt he had gotten his money’s worth. Three looks, and he could be happy for the entire day.
The two of them stood silently beside the carriage, each more miserable than the other.
They looked like two abandoned puppies waiting pitifully for some kindhearted person to take them home.
When Shi Huai walked out of the cuju field, this was the scene he saw.
He paused slightly, looking first at Zhao Huan, then at Wang Ren. A trace of confusion touched his lips.
“What’s wrong with you two? Why are you all so downcast? Did losing the match really upset you that much?”
Zhao Huan and Wang Ren looked up at Shi Huai at the same time.
The setting sun fell across his face, lending his almost translucent-white skin a warm glow. He looked as though he had stepped straight out of a painting.
Zhao Huan’s heart lurched. He hurriedly looked away, his voice somewhat unsteady.
“Who’s downcast? I’m just… just a little tired.”
“I’m tired too.”
Wang Ren quickly echoed him, his dimples returning to his round face as he forced out a smile.
“We’ve been playing all afternoon. Of course I’m tired. I’m not like you—you’ve got so much stamina.”
Shi Huai glanced at him without thinking much of it, then nodded.
“Then hurry home and get some rest. We still have lessons tomorrow.”
With that, he turned and walked toward his family’s carriage.
The moon-white cloak fluttered lightly in the evening breeze. A few strands of his raven-black hair had slipped free of his hairpin and fallen over his shoulder.
Zhao Huan watched his retreating figure, his gaze clinging to the moon-white cloak. It still bore the traces of where the Crown Prince’s fingers had brushed while fastening it.
His eyes reddened again.
Wang Ren reached out and patted him on the shoulder.
Xie Zhaolin came over from behind, glanced at Zhao Huan’s half-dead expression, and twitched slightly at the corner of his mouth.
“All right, stop staring. He’s gone. You won’t be able to stare a flower into existence.”
Zhao Huan flushed at those words, gave a forceful snort, and turned to climb into the carriage. When the curtain dropped, it landed with a muffled thud.
Xie Zhaolin watched the swaying curtain and shook his head. He turned toward his horse, but after taking two steps, he stopped and looked back in the direction Shi Huai’s carriage had disappeared.
The street was already empty. Only a few fallen leaves spun in the wind before slowly drifting away.
He drew a deep breath, swung himself onto his horse, and squeezed its sides with his legs.
The horse whinnied and charged forward.
Its hooves clattered across the empty Chang’an Street, the sound gradually fading into the distance.
By the time the coachman brought the carriage to the gates of the Yongning Marquis’s Residence, darkness had fallen.
Dusk surged in from all directions, staining the entire street a dusky blue-gray.
Shi Huai jumped down from the carriage. When he looked up, he saw Old Liu standing at the gatehouse, his face piled high with smiles.
“Young Master Shi, you’re finally back. We have a guest at the residence. He’s been waiting for quite some time.”
Shi Huai paused slightly.
“Who is it?”
Before Old Liu could answer, a voice rang out from inside the courtyard.
“Young Master Shi! You’re finally back!”
