Was family status truly the only reason to reject a marriage? Yang Jingyuan thought for a moment before saying earnestly, “I’m not the eldest legitimate son, so I don’t need to inherit the family business. My parents don’t need to find me a bride from a noble family—they’re willing to support my feelings for your sister.”
“It’s because of that brocade handkerchief, isn’t it?” As the only son responsible for maintaining the Ji family’s standing, Ji Yaoting had been managing the dye house affairs under his father’s guidance since he was ten. His understanding of human nature far exceeded his years. He gazed calmly at Yang Jingyuan and said, “It’s because Master and Madam Yang saw my sister’s embroidered handkerchief that they’re willing to support you, right?”
Yang Jingyuan was suddenly at a loss for words. His stepmother’s approval had indeed been because of the handkerchief. He wasn’t—but he couldn’t deny Ji Yaoting’s statement.
“Where is the handkerchief?” Ji Yaoting felt sorry for his sister once again.
Yang Jingyuan couldn’t lie: “In my mother’s possession.”
Just then, the shop owner cheerfully emerged with a black earthenware pot: “Young master, the porridge is ready! Extra ginger strips added—guarantee one hot bowl will get you sweating and breathing easy!”
Ji Yaoting cupped his hands: “Thank you for your kindness. But the Ji family truly cannot aspire so high. Please stop pursuing my sister.”
The black pot’s mouth revealed snow-white carp porridge floating with pale yellow ginger strips and sprinkled with tender green scallions, steam rising in steady wisps.
Yang Jingyuan sat down, dazed.
The shop owner wrung his hands and carefully asked, “Is the young master dissatisfied?”
Yang Jingyuan suddenly raised his head, tossed some money on the table, covered the pot with a banana leaf, and left with it.
Ji Yaoting walked home slowly. At the city gate, he saw a white horse gallop past him and out of the city. The white horse and red robe were eye-catching; his heart jumped, and he raised his hand to call out to Yang Jingyuan. But in an instant, the rider had vanished.
The mule cart had left the city earlier. Not far from the city, a bamboo canopy was set up under a Chinese parasol tree, with a tea shop sign hanging. Ji Fu had stopped the cart to wait for Ji Yaoting. Ji Yingying had also gotten down and entered the tea stall.
Just as the tea was being served, Ji Yingying heard hoofbeats rushing toward her. She turned instinctively.
The white horse stopped before the tea canopy, Yang Jingyuan astride it, holding the black porridge pot in one hand.
He stared at her intently. In her apricot-yellow traditional dress, her hair in a neat bun, her eyes wide with surprise. She was fine. She hadn’t been lying ill in the cart. She had heard everything. Yet she had left first. Let her brother come reject him. If it were Zhao Xiuyuan, would she have left without a word? He remembered Ji Yingying’s suppressed crying from the night before. She had never liked him—it had all been his one-sided affection.
His heart felt as if bitten by ants. That small ache gradually spread through his entire body, making him clench his jaw in discomfort. The black pot wasn’t large, but now, seeing Ji Yingying sitting perfectly well before him, it suddenly felt heavy.
Caught red-handed by Yang Jingyuan, Ji Yingying felt very awkward. She explained softly, “I just didn’t want to see Fifth Madam Niu, and then…”
And then she didn’t want to get too involved with him.
Having only realized Yang Jingyuan’s intentions toward her, with him having said nothing, she couldn’t bring herself to speak those words.
She peered down the road—there were few travelers on the official road, and the city gate tower was visible in the distance, but Ji Yaoting hadn’t caught up yet.
The white horse stepped lightly closer to Ji Yingying, its hooves clip-clopping. Yang Jingyuan looked down at her: “I want to marry you, not because of that handkerchief.”
His sudden mention of marriage startled Ji Yingying into stepping back: “What did you say?”
Yang Jingyuan gazed at her steadily: “If my mother sends a matchmaker to propose marriage, would you agree?”
Ji Yingying stood frozen like a wooden chicken. She shook her head unconsciously: “Third Young Master Yang, don’t just…”
Her eyes showed only shock. So it was just his one-sided feeling. She had to marry someone—if she couldn’t marry Second Young Master Zhao, had she never considered marrying him? How was he inferior to Second Young Master Zhao?
“Third Young Master Yang, can you weave brocade?”
He recalled Zhao Xiuyuan’s words. Indeed, he was just a pampered young master who only knew how to ride horses and play with hawks. Naturally, he couldn’t compare to Zhao Xiuyuan’s capability.
“In your heart, am I truly worthless?”
“How could a young master of the Brocade King Yang family be called worthless?”
“You’re very wealthy, aren’t you?”
In her heart, he had always been just a wealthy playboy. Yang Jingyuan lowered his eyes; the porridge in his hand felt like a joke. He, too, must be a joke in her eyes. His hand loosened, and the porridge pot slipped from his grasp, shattering with a crash.
The white porridge scattered across the ground, making a mess.
He looked at Ji Yingying’s shocked face and said flatly, “Don’t worry, I won’t use my family’s wealth to force you to marry me.”
Yang Jingyuan turned his horse around and struck it once with his whip. The horse neighed and galloped back toward the city.
“Hey!” Ji Yingying ran a few steps after him, but Yang Jingyuan didn’t look back. She shouted angrily, “What’s all this about? It makes no sense!”
He had come inexplicably, spoken inexplicably, and gotten angry inexplicably. Ji Yingying stamped her foot hard: “I don’t owe you anything!”
Turning to see the shattered pot and scattered fish porridge on the ground, Ji Yingying found it unbearable to look at. She got into the mule cart and said huffily, “Uncle Ji Fu, let’s go home. Don’t wait for brother!”
What a waste. Ji Fu sighed inwardly as he drove the cart away.
When Ji Yaoting returned home after settling accounts for the goods, he had barely entered the small courtyard when his sister pounced on him, hitting him with her fists: “What did you say to Third Young Master Yang? He came running here inexplicably to smash the porridge pot!”
Ji Yaoting caught his sister’s wrists and said urgently, “Lower your voice, do you want Mother to hear?”
Ji Yingying stopped hitting him angrily and sat under the Chinese parasol tree, resting her chin on her hand and brooding.
“Brother only rejected him. Isn’t that what we agreed on?” Ji Yaoting sat beside her and asked curiously, “Did he lose his temper with you?”
Ji Yingying counted off on her fingers irritably: “He came running here and only said three sentences. Then he smashed the porridge pot.” She continued indignantly, “I didn’t even have a chance to say thank you before he ran off. As if I’d borrowed rice from his family and returned chaff. His face nearly reached his knees! Rich young masters are truly impossible to serve.”
Ji Yaoting sighed: “Pampered at home, inexperienced in life. He probably never expected our family to reject him—it hurt his pride.”
“Hmph!” Ji Yingying snorted contemptuously, “Calling him a playboy isn’t wrong at all. I was too shocked to react at the time, but if he dares to smash another porridge pot in front of me, I’ll curse him till he bleeds!”
If only Yang Jingyuan weren’t a young master of the Yang family, Ji Yaoting thought, remembering Yang Jingyuan’s spirited demeanor, and silently said what a pity.
“Well, there won’t be any more interaction in the future. Oh, right, when settling accounts with Mother earlier, she said that when people come from aunt’s house at the end of the year, you’ll go with them to Chang’an.”
“Chang’an?!” Ji Yingying was shocked once again. The fear of leaving home immediately gripped her heart. She clutched her brother’s sleeve nervously, “Why didn’t mother tell me when I got back?”
Ji Yaoting smiled: “Mother was taking her afternoon nap when you returned. After receiving goods and settling accounts this afternoon, she’ll tell you after dinner.”