Shen Jinghong’s tone was positively sour.
Shi Huai paid him no mind. He turned a page, not even lifting his head.
“Brother Shen, that’s not how you should put it. It’s a good thing that the princess wants to study poetry. As her subjects, what right do we have to be choosy?”
Shen Jinghong was momentarily stifled by those words. The smile at the corner of his mouth froze for an instant before deepening, though a trace of irritation appeared in his eyes.
Wang Ren rose from the corner and walked over to Shi Huai’s desk. There was a strained smile on his face as well.
“Shi Huai, the princess… what is she like? Is she easy to get along with?”
His voice sounded a little weak, and his gaze wandered across Shi Huai’s face, as though he were trying to find some clue in that calm, unreadable expression.
At last, Shi Huai raised his head.
He glanced at Wang Ren’s face, which was practically covered in anxiety, then looked at the students around them, all of whom had pricked up their ears. The corners of his lips lifted slightly.
“The princess is wonderful. She has a cheerful personality and treats people sincerely.”
The moment those words were spoken, the atmosphere in the entire classroom changed.
When Wang Ren heard the words “The princess is wonderful,” the smile on his face completely collapsed.
The two dimples on his round cheeks looked as though someone had pressed them flat with their fingers, leaving them utterly smooth.
Wang Ren lowered his head and stared at the tips of his shoes.
A blot of ink stained his boots, glaring against the gray fabric.
His throat bobbed once, and he let out a faint swallowing sound, as if he were forcing down something bitter and sour.
Xie Zhaolin sat in his place, the circles he was drawing on the paper growing faster and faster until they finally became a tangled mess.
The ink had seeped across the entire sheet, turning it black, yet he seemed completely unaware. His gaze remained fixed on Shi Huai’s profile, turbulent emotions surging in his eyes.
Shen Jinghong was the quickest to compose himself.
He looked no different from his usual lazy self, but his voice carried a deliberately restrained casualness.
“Of course the princess is wonderful. Everyone in the capital knows that Princess Jinse is virtuous, refined, and well-educated. She is the apple of His Majesty’s eye.”
The Third Prince listened to Shen Jinghong’s flawless praise, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
Was he really talking about his spoiled, headstrong little sister?
His sister Jinse was fourteen, at the age when a girl’s heart first began to stir.
Shi Huai was twelve, likewise at the age when young boys first developed feelings for someone.
There was only a two-year difference between them.
An older girl and a younger boy—it was perfectly ordinary when it came to marriages among the great aristocratic families of the capital.
More importantly, Jinse could openly and legitimately take Shi Huai as her prince consort.
They could be together in broad daylight, unlike him…
At that thought, the Third Prince’s fingers clenched violently, his nails digging into his palms and drawing thin lines of blood.
He took a deep breath before forcing down the emotions roiling inside him.
Shen Jinghong was thinking about the same thing, his mind racing.
The princess was fourteen, and Shi Huai was twelve—the most dangerous age of all.
His Majesty’s favorite daughter and the young master of the Yongning Marquis’s household… Their family backgrounds might not be the most illustrious, but Shi Huai had talent, looks, and a good reputation. He might not be unworthy of her.
Shen Jinghong’s heart felt as though an iron hand had seized it, squeezing so painfully that he nearly could not breathe.
The Third Prince lowered his gaze to the food box by his feet, then looked up at Shi Huai’s calm, unreadable face. With some effort, he managed to say:
“Shi Huai, I’ll deliver it to Jinse for you. I happen to be going to the palace this afternoon to pay my respects to my mother.”
His voice sounded no different from usual—steady and composed, bearing the effortless poise characteristic of a prince.
But his ears betrayed him.
The thin skin there was red enough to drip blood, so red that even his collar could not hide it.
Shi Huai lifted his head and glanced at the Third Prince, a faint smile touching his lips.
“Then I’ll trouble Your Highness.”
He bent down, picked up the food box, and handed it to the Third Prince.
The instant the Third Prince reached out and his fingers brushed Shi Huai’s, his entire body felt as though he had been struck by lightning.
The numbness traveled from his fingertips to the back of his head, then from his scalp all the way down to the soles of his feet.
His fingers tightened abruptly, the knuckles paling as though he might crush the handle of the food box. Only after taking a deep breath did he manage to steady his expression.
“It’s no trouble. Not at all. It was the least I could do.”
The Third Prince carried the food box back to his seat and placed it carefully on the desk.
He treated it as though it were some priceless treasure, even wiping at the lid with his sleeve to remove a speck of dust that was not there.
Shen Jinghong watched the Third Prince handle it with such care and tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He cursed inwardly. What a hopeless fool. He was a prince, yet he was willingly delivering something to his “love rival.”
And it was a “love-token food box” from the person he loved to that “love rival.”
Yet after cursing the Third Prince, Shen Jinghong realized that he was no different.
If Shi Huai asked him to deliver something to his younger sister, he would probably act even more obsequiously, even more carefully, and even more pathetically than the Third Prince.
At that thought, Shen Jinghong felt somewhat relieved that he did not have to compete with the Third Prince’s troublesome younger sister for the person he loved.
He had only one older sister, and she had already married into the imperial family.
He would not have to face a “tragic” situation like the Third Prince’s.
But very soon, Shen Jinghong realized something else.
He could not help cursing himself inwardly as well. Afterward, his irritation only grew worse.
Wang Ren crouched in the corner, the dimples on his round face still nowhere to be seen.
He stuffed the dog-eared book he had just picked up from the floor into his book bag, trying several times without success.
The pages caught on the opening and folded into several deep creases, but he did not seem to notice.
He simply kept shoving it in mechanically, his eyes faintly red and the tip of his nose flushed. He looked utterly dejected.
The classmate sitting beside him reached over and patted him on the shoulder, murmuring something under his breath.
Wang Ren shook his head and forced out a smile more miserable than tears. His voice was muffled.
“I’m fine. I’m just a little tired.”
The book in Lin Mo’s hands finally tore along one page with a sharp rip.
He hurriedly tried to smooth out the split, but his fingers were trembling so badly that he only tore the page further.
Tears circled in his eyes several times, but in the end, none fell.
He sniffed hard, pulled the torn page from the book, crumpled it into a ball, and stuffed it into the very bottom of his book bag.
His movements were so rough that they seemed completely unlike his usual self.
Then Lin Mo lowered his head and buried his face in his arms, his shoulders trembling faintly.
Gu Changning lowered his head as well. His fingers slowly tightened against the fabric of his trousers, wrinkling the dark blue robe into deep creases.
His lips pressed together slightly, and his whole body looked as though he were enduring some immense agony.
But the agony was not physical.
It had grown from his heart, burrowing into his very organs, impossible to pull out.
