“See, I told you — the wealthy are the easiest people to earn money from.” Chen Baoxiang laughed as she counted the banknotes in her hands. “Wine and tea can’t hold a candle to face — that’s the easiest thing to sell. The monthly rent on this shop is two hundred and eighty taels; Manyue was worried I’d lose money. Just look — earned to overflowing.”

Zhang Zhixu stood beside her, his gaze drifting back and forth across her face.

“What is it?” She instinctively touched her face. “Is there something on it?”

“No — I was just thinking, how can such a remarkable person exist in this world?” He couldn’t help marveling. “Such an absurd shop, and yet in your hands it flourishes and thrives.”

Wanbao Tower had taken thirty full years from opening to building its reputation with the wealthy clientele. Yet Xiangshe Tower had captured everyone’s attention in just three days.

Three days — and if he had been tasked with devising a way to make a name, he wouldn’t even have known where to start.

And yet the person before him — who couldn’t read and had never run a business — had managed it so lightly, so effortlessly, and secured a triumphant opening.

“There you go, looking at me like that again.” Chen Baoxiang tilted her head with a smile. “That admiring of me?”

“Yes.” Zhang Zhixu gave a small nod. “So much so that I’m tempted to turn around, go back to the palace, and say one thing to the colleagues who insulted you: ‘You blind fools.'”

How could anyone fail to see Chen Baoxiang’s worth — she was so clearly radiant with light.

The person before him was tickled by his words and laughed until she swayed forward and back, holding onto his shoulder.

Perhaps because he watched her laugh so unreservedly, or perhaps because he noticed a smear of uneaten sugar pastry at the corner of her mouth, Zhang Zhixu looked at her for a moment and in the end couldn’t restrain himself from leaning in toward her.

The laughter from the upper floor came to an abrupt halt.

Chen Baoxiang was somewhat surprised by his action, but only for a moment — then she smiled and pressed him back against the railing, pushing forward freely in return.

Zhang Zhixu was a person who thought too much and brooded too deeply — sometimes like a dragonfly too wary to settle long upon a leaf tip, his apparent composure merely a surface, with restlessness as his true constant state.

Yet he would also praise her and affirm her without reservation, and even half-submerged in the river himself, he still tried his hardest to hold her up a little higher.

Chen Baoxiang considered herself not entirely without conscience. She often wished she could give him an equal measure of tenderness in return.

But.

The experiences of Chen Yuaner and Cheng Huaili had told her — people change, and so do feelings. What is inseparable today may leave not the slightest trace by tomorrow.

If she plunged in headlong and swam too far to find the bank again, what then?

She still had other things to do. She could not die in prison, and she could not drown in him either.

Their lips parted. Her eyes were clear and unclouded.

She looked up and found Zhang Zhixu’s eyes brimming with feeling — but the moment they met her gaze, it settled back into measured restraint.

And she, still smiling sweetly, leaned in to ask: “Was it sweet?”

He had no recourse against her. He said yes with ears tinted red, then extended a hand toward her.

“What?” She didn’t understand.

“Qingqing,” he said. “I’d like to wear it to work tomorrow.”

Chen Baoxiang pulled his head down and kissed him once more: “This one?”

“……” His neck turned red along with his ears, his brow creasing faintly — as though he wanted to call her shameless but was entirely at a loss for how to deal with her.

Fair, slender fingers fidgeted with his sleeve hem, his throat moved beneath the overlapping folds of his collar.

Truly a feast for the eyes.

Chen Baoxiang passed Qingqing over to him, and smiled to ask: “Tomorrow, would the young gentleman be so gracious as to join me for a meal at Zhaixing Tower?”

“Not tomorrow — the day after is fine,” he said. “Some relative in the clan has been promoted; Father has asked me to come to Zhaixing Tower for a drinking celebration tomorrow at midday.”

“The day after, then.” She tossed the banknotes with breezy confidence. “This time, I’ll pay.”

Zhang Zhixu let out a sudden laugh.

When two people have been together for a stretch of time, they often lose track of just how far the feeling has come — only knowing that the days are passing pleasantly enough, that seeing you today makes me happy, and tomorrow will likely be the same.

Affection is like a faint fragrance diffused through the air — impossible to grasp and hold up to weigh.

·

“The Spring Examinations are almost upon us. Instead of going around cultivating connections, you do nothing but drag everything backward.” Zhang Yuanchu walked and lectured in the same breath, his face stiff with displeasure. “No more submitting memorials — keep this up and even our ancestors won’t be able to protect you.”

“And that business with Dongrong Manor — whatever your grievance with Xie Lanting, did you have to impeach him until he lost his official cap? The Marquis himself came to ask me about it, and I had to stand there smiling and apologizing on your behalf.”

“You haven’t come back to the ancestral estate to visit the elders either. Several of the older generation are displeased.”

Zhang Zhixu followed behind, climbing the steps of Zhaixing Tower, answering each point as it was raised — and letting none of it penetrate a single layer deeper.

Other men’s rebellious streaks arrived at sixteen or seventeen; his had come somewhat late — taking a full twenty years to grow in properly.

But it had its uses: he would no longer reproach himself over his father’s criticisms, nor would he let his father steer his decisions.

The memorials would be submitted. Xie Lanting would be impeached. And the ancestral estate could simply go unvisited for the time being.

He stepped onto the tenth floor of Zhaixing Tower and, meeting the mild spring breeze coming from outside, exhaled a long, contented breath.

“Fengqing, you’ve finally arrived. Come, sit.” Zhang Yunfeng waved him over.

This was the grandfather from the Third Branch of the family. Zhang Zhixu greeted him with proper courtesy, then took his seat.

He had intended to eat a couple of bites and get through the occasion, but barely had he settled when several more people suddenly sat down at the empty seats beside him.

“Minister Zhang, I am Su Lin’yun of the Ministry of Rites.” The newcomer clasped his hands in a bow. “And this is my daughter, Shengyi.”

Zhang Zhixu gave a polite nod, then turned back and continued to sample the new dishes at Zhaixing Tower — this particular dish hadn’t been here before, and Chen Baoxiang would probably enjoy it.

“Fengqing.” Zhang Yuanchu said with marked displeasure. “Won’t you speak more with Minister Su?”

What was there to speak about? They had argued in court just two days ago.

Zhang Zhixu set down his chopsticks and turned to ask Zhang Yunfeng: “Third Grandfather, how is your health of late?”

Zhang Yunfeng glanced at him and let out a long sigh: “You know what the younger lot under me are like — what use is my health? My luck is poor. Nothing like Minister Su, who I hear not long ago had his eldest daughter deliver a pair of twins — a boy and a girl?”

Su Lin’yun smiled: “Just good fortune. Both mother and children are safe and well.”

Zhang Yunfeng was full of envy, then looked over at Su Shengyi: “This must be your youngest daughter? She seems quite young.”

“She’s already seventeen after the New Year — not so young anymore.”

“She’s a few years younger than my grandson here, but they seem to be a good match at a glance — I wonder if she’s been promised to anyone?”

“……” Zhang Zhixu belatedly looked up.

If he remembered correctly, he had just told his father not long ago that he had no intention of marrying in the near future — and his father had agreed, saying to establish a career before a family.

And yet here he was — two words spoken, and straight into a matchmaking arrangement?

“Minister Zhang.” Su Shengyi seemed to have been alarmed by his expression, and addressed him tentatively. “It’s a rare chance to see you. There are some lines of poetry I’ve been hoping to ask your guidance on.”

Zhang Zhixu glanced across the people seated at the table, then rose with composure: “Miss Su, if I may have a word in private.”

Su Shengyi was rather flustered at the unexpected attention, and quickly rose to follow him out to the open terrace.

Zhaixing Tower was lively today — every private room in every part of the building had guests, and the noise was unceasing from all directions.

Su Shengyi’s face was deeply flushed, and she murmured softly: “Your humble self has read Minister Zhang’s Treatise on Trees no fewer than ten times. To be able to meet you today, I am truly overjoyed.”

The surroundings were so noisy, she had only dared say it because she didn’t expect Zhang Zhixu to hear.

But by some coincidence, the moment she spoke, there was an abrupt lull in all the noise around them.

And so her words floated over to Zhang Zhixu, clear and crisp.

Su Shengyi was terrified, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she watched him with anxious eyes.

Zhang Zhixu listened to the end, composed, and gave a courteous nod. “Shallow words, not worthy of such praise.”

He stood settled at the railing, his gaze dropping to the top of her head.

“Please pardon my presumption, Miss Su — the style of your hairpin is rather remarkable. I have been hoping to purchase one as a gift for the person on my heart. Might you be so kind as to tell me where the shop is located?”