Lin Hong spread his arms wide and embraced Zhenzhen. This action was so swift as to brook no resistance, yet the subsequent embrace was exceptionally gentle. His broad sleeves overlapped as if to warm her, covering her, his chin lightly resting against her hairline, letting her lean against his chest.
Zhenzhen heard his heartbeat—that sound at such close distance seemed distant and lofty, gradually strengthening with time, as if someone inside his heart were treading wooden corridors step by step to approach her.
His clothes were as always spotlessly clean. In the firelight and shadows he was pure and warm. Burying her head against his chest, besides the agarwood and sandalwood fragrance of his clothes, she could smell the scent of sunlight.
Her surprise and bewilderment were quietly melted away by this sudden tenderness. Awakening from her dazed state, flowers in her heart gradually bloomed, yet she felt soreness and her eyes inexplicably grew hot.
She closed her eyes, circling her arms around his waist, hiding herself in his embrace to avoid meeting his gaze. After a moment, she asked softly: “Do you think I’m dreaming? Will I wake up from this dream to find myself still lying in that cave?”
Probably due to extreme worry and lack of confidence, her voice was thin and weak, sounding quite timid, making him feel immediate pity. He wanted to answer but momentarily couldn’t find suitable words, remaining silent. Unable to wait for his response, she drew back her left hand to touch his chest, like a small cat wrinkling the clothing at his breast, supporting her head slightly to look up at him with eyes carrying glistening tears, as if trying to confirm his existence.
His heart felt as if brushed by a feather. He trembled slightly, his right arm tightening around her while his left hand traced along her nape, threading into her loosening hair ornament and the black hair about to come undone. Bending down, he pressed a kiss containing a sigh to her forehead.
A shadow flickered past the window, quickly retreating. It was A’Che, who had come looking for his master. Seeing candlelight still in the study but the master absent, he had searched here, wanting to ask if he needed to return to the study.
The scene in the room so shocked A’Che that he retreated repeatedly until the back of his head hit the corridor pillar behind him. Fortunately, the sound wasn’t loud and didn’t startle Lin Hong and Zhenzhen. A’Che immediately lowered his head, lightened his steps, and ran toward his own bedroom.
Just reaching his door, he encountered Xin Sanniang walking toward the kitchen. Sanniang looked at the candlelight emanating from the kitchen and asked A’Che: “So late, and the Young Master is still in the kitchen?”
A’Che blocked her path, repeatedly waving his hands to prevent her from continuing forward.
Xin Sanniang stopped, looking suspicious: “What’s wrong? What is the Young Master doing?”
A’Che’s face turned red. After hesitating for a long while, he answered: “Connecting with earthly life.”
Xin Sanniang’s eyes rolled, and she already understood. She pushed A’Che into his room and closed the door from outside: “Go to sleep quickly and don’t meddle in affairs.” Then she herself turned back to her room, no longer going to investigate.
Lin Hong’s lips gently touched Zhenzhen’s forehead point by point, then lingered and wandered as if writing a long-lasting mark for her. This embrace differed from before, carrying gradually warming heat like his kiss. Zhenzhen felt somewhat confused and somewhat shy, trying to struggle free, but he wouldn’t release her. Not knowing what to do, her limbs went soft as if drunk, temporarily ceasing her struggles.
When his kiss showed a tendency to drift downward, wind suddenly came through the bamboo, moving the broken jade pieces hanging among the bamboo groves outside the study. The jade pieces collided, ringing like pendant ornaments.
Lin Hong hung broken jade pieces in the bamboo grove, calling them “broken jade pieces” to serve as wind chimes. When Zhenzhen had asked why he used these, he said that wind stirring jade could please the ears and eyes and calm the heart and cultivate one’s nature.
Late winds grew fierce, and the sound of broken jade pieces rustled continuously, one wave following another. The clear musical tones gradually became more intense, suddenly bursting with a resounding metallic sound as if jade pieces had fallen to the ground, landing on blue stone bricks and instantly shattering.
Lin Hong startled in alarm, released Zhenzhen, and stood looking out the window. The flames in his eyes gradually dimmed. He suddenly turned and went outside, striding swiftly across corridors, plum trees, and bamboo groves toward the pond.
Wild wind howled toward him. He spread his arms wide against the wind, letting it sweep away his cloak. The cloak fluttered down to the ground, but he didn’t look back, walking straight to the rippling waterside before stopping. His vast gaze looked toward the night sky obscured by dark clouds, struggling to calm his breathing in the hunting wind.
He stood silently for a long time until the wind lessened and moonlight reappeared. The moonlight seemed like a sprite spreading icy silk wings, embracing his body clad only in a single shirt. As the tide of heat within him receded, he finally regained his accustomed, safe coolness.
He returned to the study, pushed open the door, and slowly walked before the painting of the Goddess of Luo. His gaze gradually settled on the Goddess as he quietly spoke three words: “I’m sorry.”
The Goddess’s eyebrows seemed furrowed, yet her lips held a faint smile. Her wondrous eyes were like water, gazing at him gently.
Behind Lin Hong, outside the door, Zhenzhen quietly arrived holding his cloak.
When he ended his long silence and turned to walk out the door, she was already gone, the cloak neatly placed on the ground. He bent to pick it up and discovered two moist round spots on it.
He looked up into the distance. The night in the garden was peaceful with no trace of rain.
The next morning, Zhenzhen packed her luggage and came to the hall, waiting to bid farewell to the people in the garden. Lin Hong had already gone out early to play the qin, seemingly unwilling to see her again.
Xin Sanniang came from the back courtyard to the hall with a smile, originally prepared with words half-teasing and half-congratulatory to say to Lin Hong and Zhenzhen. But unexpectedly, one was nowhere to be seen while the other sat alone under gloomy clouds, showing no joy on her face.
Discovering Zhenzhen’s luggage, Sanniang asked in surprise about her intentions. When Zhenzhen briefly explained about returning to Pujiang to await selection for the Royal Kitchen, Sanniang immediately flared with inexplicable anger: “You’re also entering the palace?”
Not understanding why she reacted this way, Zhenzhen guessed she probably thought her overambitious and explained: “Though my culinary skills aren’t refined, this is the only opportunity to enter the palace to search for my mother. I can’t give up—I can only do my best.”
“If you want to enter the palace, go by yourself! Why did you come here to entangle the Young Master!” Sanniang angrily scolded, no longer listening to Zhenzhen’s explanations, and left in a huff.
A’Che was much more amiable in comforting her and produced a wooden box: “This is from the Young Master for you.”
Opening it, Zhenzhen found generous travel money and a bound manuscript inside.
“This is travel money the Young Master prepared for you, and that…” A’Che pointed to the manuscript, “those are recipes the Young Master usually recorded, for you to take with you, saying you might find them useful in the future.”
Zhenzhen took out the manuscript and opened it, seeing it was indeed recipes written in small script, comprehensively recording delicacies of all four seasons—surely Lin Hong’s years of effort. The handwriting was clear and elegant, and the pages still carried a faint fragrance of plum blossoms.
A’Che escorted Zhenzhen down the mountain, helped her retrieve the horse boarded with farming families, assisted her in mounting, and after bidding farewell said: “There’s a blessing I know I shouldn’t voice, but I really can’t help myself.”
Zhenzhen told him to speak, so he smiled: “I wish you fail the selection and return.”
Zhenzhen wanted to smile politely but truly couldn’t manage a proper expression. A’Che urged her to depart. She rode a few steps, then suddenly turned back and asked softly: “A’Che, Sister Goddess of Luo—she doesn’t eat pork, does she?”
A’Che was momentarily confused, not understanding what she meant, and remained silent. Zhenzhen smiled sadly, no longer waiting, turned her horse around, and began a new journey.
This day the sunlight was warm and gentle, the weather clear and peaceful. Walking through the lush forests and fields, flowers accompanied her all the way, the spring scenery so beautiful it seemed it would never fade. On horseback, Zhenzhen closed her eyes amid the clamorous birdsong in the full trees, letting her carefree early spring youth disappear into the dust along with two streams of clear tears.