The Third Prince’s hand froze in midair, his arms wrapped tightly around the food box.
Yet the smile on his face seemed to have been doused with a basin of cold water, slowly freezing from the corners of his mouth inward.
“Not... not for me?”
The Third Prince’s voice sounded unsteady, and the light in his eyes dimmed all at once.
He lowered his head to look at the food box in his arms, then raised it again to stare at Shi Huai’s baffled face. His lips trembled twice before he managed to squeeze out:
“Then... then who is it for?”
The corners of Shen Jinghong’s lips slowly curved into a schadenfreude-filled smile.
He crossed his arms over his chest, and the sourness in his heart dissipated by more than half.
Good. It wasn’t for the Third Prince. Good.
Wang Ren poked his head out from the corner, his eyes shining like a fat dog that had just spotted a meaty bone.
He wiped the crumbs of steamed bun from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. A suppressed chuckle escaped his throat, but he quickly covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking up and down.
The speed at which Xie Zhaolin was drawing circles on the paper with his brush slowed, and the corners of his lips lifted slightly.
The gloom in his eyes faded somewhat.
Even so, he continued staring at Shi Huai without blinking, waiting for what he would say next.
If it wasn’t for the Third Prince, then who was it for?
This was a food box Shi Huai had personally brought from the Marquis’s Residence to the Imperial Academy. Who had the honor of receiving it?
Everyone was asking themselves the same question. Every gaze was nailed to Shi Huai like a spike, fixed so firmly that it could not be pulled free.
Lin Mo sat in the last row, his ears perked higher than a rabbit’s.
Gu Changning raised his eyes from above the pages of his book. His cold, sharp phoenix eyes crossed the edge of the paper and landed on Shi Huai’s face.
The Third Prince drew a deep breath and forced down the emotions roiling inside him. He took the food box from his arms and set it on Shi Huai’s desk, his voice slightly tense.
“Who is it for? Shi Huai, tell me. I won’t get angry.”
Shi Huai looked at the Third Prince’s face, which practically proclaimed, “I really want to know,” then glanced at the ears that had perked up around him and the tightly wound nerves in the room. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
He lowered his head and continued tidying his book bag, his tone utterly calm.
“It’s for Princess Jinse.”
The moment those words left his mouth, the entire classroom seemed to have been pressed into pause. It remained silent for three full breaths.
Then everyone heard the same string inside their hearts snap with a sharp twang.
Shen Jinghong’s body jerked forward. The schadenfreude in his eyes shattered completely, replaced by an even more complicated emotion.
Sour. Excruciatingly sour—so sour that his teeth ached.
The fingers tapping against his arm came to a stop. He sat there stiffly, like a stone statue drenched in acid rain.
The laughter in Wang Ren’s mouth caught in his throat, unable to rise or fall, leaving his face flushed red.
The dimples in his round cheeks vanished, replaced by an expression of blank confusion and disappointment.
He lowered his head and quickly wiped at the corner of his eye with the back of his hand, pretending that a speck of sand had gotten into it.
The brush in Xie Zhaolin’s hand plunged through the paper with a sharp snap. Its tip stabbed into the desk, leaving behind a blot of ink.
His fingers clenched around the brush until they creaked, and his face flushed as though he had drunk an entire jar of strong liquor.
A princess. It was a princess.
That person was none of them. She was not even in this classroom, not at the Imperial Academy, not anywhere within their reach.
She was a princess—the Emperor’s eldest daughter, the Crown Prince’s younger sister, and the most honored young woman in all of Great Yan.
The book in Lin Mo’s hands was finally torn, the ripping sound especially jarring in the silent classroom.
He hurriedly tried to smooth out the tear, his fingers trembling violently, his eyes red as a rabbit’s.
Gu Changning closed his book and placed it on his lap before shutting his eyes and drawing a deep breath.
When he opened them again, an indescribable emotion churned within those cold, sharp phoenix eyes.
He lowered his head and stared at the hands resting on his lap. Those hands were slender, fair, and sharply jointed, yet now they trembled faintly.
The Third Prince stood beside Shi Huai’s desk, his expression like a palette that had been knocked over, all its colors muddled together into something impossible to identify.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but it felt as though a wad of cotton had lodged in his throat, preventing him from making a sound.
Jinse. His sister—his own younger sister.
Just moments ago, he had been thrown into turmoil by the jealousy he felt over Shi Huai bringing her something. Now that he knew it was for his sister, that jealousy had turned even more bitter.
“Shi Huai, you... are you very close with my sister?”
The Third Prince’s voice was slightly hoarse.
Shi Huai tied up his book bag and set it in the corner of the desk. Then he looked up at the Third Prince’s eyes, which were filled with complicated emotions. After thinking for a moment, he said:
“Not particularly. We met once at the poetry gathering before. Yesterday, the princess came to the Marquis’s Residence and said she wanted to learn poetry, so I helped her write one.”
“Yesterday? The princess went to the Marquis’s Residence? Did she go alone?”
Shen Jinghong could no longer hold himself back.
He leaned forward, nearly rising from his chair, his peach-blossom eyes widening until they almost became puppy eyes.
Shen Jinghong tugged at the corners of his mouth. He looked gentle and harmless, yet the air around him turned several degrees colder.
“The princess certainly has refined interests. She traveled all the way to the Marquis’s Residence to learn poetry. The palace tutors can’t teach her anymore?”
