Pei Ruheng had come and immediately taken her side of the field—not asking what had happened, not caring about her situation, opening with reprimand. His stance was already unmistakable.

The warmth from before felt like her own delusion—or perhaps it was only because the person he truly cared for wasn’t present, leaving a crack in his composure that she had caught a glimpse through.

Pei Ruheng cared deeply about this Miss Cen. Far more deeply than whatever feeling he may have had toward her.

To keep pressing further would be nothing but offering her face up to be struck.

Chen Baoxiang, sensibly, stepped back—clearing the way for them.

Pei Ruheng glanced at her once, then took Cen Xuanyue’s hand and led her inside. The hems of their garments swept and overlapped as they walked, as vivid as two people who had been childhood companions.

Behind them, Lu Qingrong and the others were delighted to watch the spectacle unfold. As they passed Chen Baoxiang, one of them reached out and pulled her along: “Come on—let’s eat.”

Raising a smile, Chen Baoxiang acted as though nothing had happened: “Gladly.”

But trailing behind, she saw with greater clarity: Pei Ruheng tilting his head slightly to listen to Cen Xuanyue speak; the two of them exchanging jokes with the ease of old familiarity; then the two of them climbing together onto the three-story observation terrace.

Zhang Zhixu pressed a hand to his chest, finding it somewhat difficult to breathe—his head ringing dully.

He endured it for a moment, then clenched his jaw and glared upward at Pei Ruheng: “This residence is small and ordinary—what is there worth seeing?”

Chen Baoxiang gave a light nod: “Yes—he wasn’t looking at the residence at all.”

Upstairs, Pei Ruheng’s eyes shone bright, the corners of his mouth perpetually lifted. Cen Xuanyue, under his gaze, had turned pink at the ears and looked away as she recited: “My longing for you, like the waters of the Western River—”

Pei Ruheng smiled softly: “—flowing east without ceasing, day and night.”

“Only the spring moon in the courtyard understands—”

“—still shining for the wanderer upon fallen flowers.”

“Though I resent walking alone as the winter comes to an end—”

“—I trust the day will come when we meet again, when the moon is full.”

As Zhang Zhixu listened, he could feel the fissure in Chen Baoxiang’s heart widening—sour, burning pain dragging from her throat all the way down into the pit of her stomach.

“Doesn’t she answer so much better than I could?” Chen Baoxiang asked.

Better didn’t begin to describe it—this was two hearts entwined, pouring out tender feeling to each other.

Zhang Zhixu had always been the sort to speak plainly, but in this moment he found himself hesitating.

—To say so outright would hurt her more. She might even cry.

Thinking of the unbearable feeling he got whenever Chen Baoxiang cried, he shook his head repeatedly and, against his conscience, said: “It’s all right, I suppose.”

Chen Baoxiang made a small sound of acknowledgment and kept watching them.

Zhang Zhixu forcibly turned her head toward the banquet tables: “What do you think of that young gentleman in the jacket with the ancient-pattern woven silk?”

Chen Baoxiang’s gaze was unfocused: “He’s all right.”

“His family has been wealthy for two generations, and his branch of the family is well-regarded.”

Zhang Zhixu racked his brain to keep talking, and getting no reaction, turned his eyes elsewhere: “What about him? He’s the only son of the Eastern Garrison commander—name’s Xu Buran. Outstanding martial skills.”

“Mm…”

“Not fond of military types? There’s still the son of the Grand Tutor’s family over there——”

“Great Immortal.” Chen Baoxiang called out to him with a small laugh. “This courtyard is full of noble guests—pick any one of them and they’d be more than fine. But not a single one of them would ever look at me.”

Zhang Zhixu was very displeased: “Why not?”

“Why—you know perfectly well that everything on me right now, from head to toe, was obtained through deception.” She tilted her head slightly. “Including the banknotes in my purse.”

Such a dispirited expression, such dispirited words.

Before, Zhang Zhixu had found her inexplicable self-confidence grating, often thinking—if only this person had a bit more steadiness and self-awareness.

But now that Chen Baoxiang was actually being steady and self-aware, he found it very difficult to bear.

“And so what.” Zhang Zhixu said with unapologetic directness. “Being able to deceive this much is a skill in itself.”

“I have no real skills. You’ve taught me zither for so long, and I still haven’t learned it properly.”

“Nonsense—something other people spend over a decade practicing, you expect to master in a few weeks?” he said stubbornly. “You’re already doing well—you can even play the general shape of Asking the Blue Sky, which is an incredibly difficult piece.”

“Didn’t you just say yesterday that you were teaching me Asking the Blue Sky and what I played back was Oh Heavens Above?”

“…I was talking rubbish.”

Chen Baoxiang laughed softly, then sighed: “Great Immortal, you don’t need to comfort me.”

She had chosen this path herself. Whatever happened along the way—she could bear it.

“Who’s comforting you.” Zhang Zhixu glanced around. “I just think this residence isn’t anything special, and the banquet fare isn’t anything special either. Let’s go back—I’ll have Xun Yuan’s kitchen make you hunyang mohu instead.”

“Mixed sheep what now?”

Zhang Zhixu was about to explain, but Lu Qingrong and the others appeared again.

“Why are you standing here all alone?” Lu Qingrong covered her mouth with a quiet laugh. “Thinking about which courtyard to rent so you can host everyone?”

Her mood had just barely settled, and this person had come to stir things up again.

Chen Baoxiang felt listless and had no desire to speak, but Zhang Zhixu was already annoyed: “An ordinary residence like this one could be rented at a moment’s notice.”

“What did you say?” Lu Qingrong froze.

“I said you have no taste. The main beam painted red, the roof outside fitted with green tiles—trying to imitate a Suzhou garden without the breadth and depth to pull it off; trying to mirror the imperial inner gardens yet filling the space with cheap ornamental jars that aren’t worth a single coin. One look at it and the colors are garish, the furniture cluttered—it looks like some pig-butcher’s household that suddenly struck it rich, desperate to prove they have money.”

“You—!” Lu Qingrong was furious, and grabbed her by the arm.

Zhang Zhixu flicked the hand away in a flash, grabbed Lu Qingrong by the jaw with lightning-quick precision, and then smiled: “Even the main course of the banquet is nothing but braised pork knuckle—haven’t you noticed the honored guests at the head table haven’t touched a single piece?”

The people nearby heard this, and immediately turned their heads to look.

Indeed—every table had a pork knuckle sitting front and center, and on many tables it remained entirely untouched.

Several of the noblewomen exchanged strange glances, murmuring among themselves as they looked at Lu Qingrong.

Lu Qingrong’s face cycled through shades of red and white, and she shook herself free in a fury: “You—you—fine! I want to see exactly which noble estate you’re living in, and what grand dishes you’ll be serving your guests!”

“Tomorrow at noon, Yongping Quarter—you are all respectfully welcomed.” She said. “Don’t come if you dare not.”

“Ridiculous—if you dare invite us, of course we’ll dare to come.” Lu Qingrong straightened her garments and leaned over to mutter to the person beside her: “What is Yongping Quarter, anyway?”

“I don’t frequent that area.”

“It can’t possibly compare to Xuanwumen in prestige. The great noble families all keep their residences here—who would settle in some Yongping Quarter.”

After a round of murmuring, the group was all the more convinced that Chen Baoxiang was bluffing and putting up a bold front.

Chen Baoxiang had no confidence either—what Yongping Quarter? And grand dishes to entertain guests? How much would that cost?

More urgently: in this little time, where was she supposed to rent a place?

Great Immortal, you’ve dragged me into your boasting again!

Don’t panic—I have a plan.

“Well, it’s decided then.” Lu Qingrong looked her up and down, then glanced back at the observation terrace.

Pei Ruheng was still laughing and talking with Cen Xuanyue—flowers before them, willows beside, a perfectly matched gentleman and beauty to behold.

She stroked her hair ornament with a satisfied smile: “I want to see—exactly what you could possibly use to compete with the only daughter of a third-rank Minister.”