As Wei Ling had said, Tingge arrived early in the morning. His wet nurse, Mama Tong, accompanied him, carrying a small box with writing materials.
It was winter, and fearing the strong winds outside might chill him, Yining had the maids prepare the warm room for his studies.
The warm room was heated with charcoal, making it very cozy. Outside, light snow had begun to fall, not heavily, but enough to cover the ground with shimmering white. This made the warm room feel even more comfortable by comparison.
Tingge picked up his brush with pursed lips, clearly unhappy.
Yining supervised his writing while sipping tea. At just five years old, Tingge’s legs dangled in the air, not reaching the floor. His young, delicate hands struggled to grip the brush properly. After writing a few characters, his attention wandered. He would fidget with the brush rack or play with the inkstone.
Yining advised, “Tingge, focus on your writing practice.” She felt a sense of irony, remembering how Luo Shen Yuan used to supervise her writing. Now she was doing the same for this little rascal.
Tingge looked at her and said, “But you’re just drinking tea over there.” His large, beautiful eyes with thick lashes gazed at her. He put down the brush with a clatter and complained, “Why should I practice while you drink tea? How good is your writing anyway?”
The little imp was defiant. Yining set down her tea and called for Songzhi to prepare paper and ink. “Come here, I’ll show you.”
Without further comment, she dipped her brush in ink and began writing in the elegant Guange style.
Tingge watched, mesmerized, as she wrote with focused concentration. Her characters were graceful and beautiful, just like those in his copybooks. He stared at Yining, his face as white and round as a steamed bun. She pinched his cheek and asked with a smile, “Isn’t my writing beautiful?”
Tingge stepped back, his little face flushing. “Who said you could pinch me? I’m a man, you can’t pinch my face!”
“You don’t like it?” Yining found his blushing adorable and continued, “Alright, I won’t pinch you then. Don’t go far, come here and I’ll teach you how to use the brush.”
But Tingge refused to come closer.
At that moment, someone quietly entered the room, casting a shadow in the doorway. Yining looked up to see Cheng Lang wearing a moon-white robe, his handsome face glowing like fine jade against the snowy winter day. Noticing her gaze, he tugged at the corner of his mouth and said, “Don’t look at me like that. Your uncle sent me here.”
He was now a proper fifth-rank official in the Ministry of Personnel, not some idle noble’s son with nothing better to do.
Yining had no particular thoughts about his presence. She greeted him as “Cousin Cheng Lang” and moved aside slightly.
Cheng Lang sighed, “Cousin, you truly avoid me like the plague.” In all his years, he had never been treated this way by anyone.
Yining responded with a noncommittal sound and said, “Cousin, you’re too modest. You’re far more frightening than any plague—I’ve heard there was once a famous Qinhuai courtesan, renowned throughout the land for her beauty and talent. You spent a fortune to book her exclusively for a performance. Later, when you tired of her, you cast her aside. Even when she threatened to disfigure herself, you paid her no mind. Is this true?”
Yining’s tone was far from friendly. Cheng Lang merely smiled and said, “It’s strange. They all start aloof and cold. Later, they become desperate, clingy, and tiresome. Cousin, you’ve misunderstood me. I never forced her to do any of those things.”
Yining strongly disliked Cheng Lang’s callous attitude towards others. Perhaps it was because she had once tried to care for him; otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered with anyone else’s affairs.
Cheng Lang took out a copybook and called Tingge over to practice. As Tingge sat down, Cheng Lang’s eyes fell on the characters Yining had written nearby.
“Did you write these?” Cheng Lang asked Yining, looking up.
Yining nodded slightly. Cheng Lang smiled and said, “You must have practiced using someone else’s copybook. The handwriting looks familiar.”
Cheng Lang was incredibly intelligent and had a photographic memory.
From childhood, Yining had always used copybooks written by Luo Shen Yuan, so her handwriting bore a strong resemblance to his. Cheng Lang must have seen Luo Shen Yuan’s writing before.
Cheng Lang picked up the paper for a closer look. After examining it, he smiled and said, “This is your third brother Luo Shen Yuan’s handwriting, isn’t it?”
Yining was astonished. She knew he had been clever as a child, but she hadn’t realized Cheng Lang had reached this level. She asked, “You’ve seen Luo Shen Yuan’s handwriting?”
“I met him in the capital a few years ago,” Cheng Lang put down the paper and looked at her. “It seems he dotes on you quite a bit.”
No one would allow another person to have identical handwriting, especially someone as intelligent and cautious as Luo Shen Yuan.
Luo Yining had always known her third brother cared for her, but hearing it from someone else’s mouth gave it a strange new significance. Only after leaving Luo Shen Yuan did she realize how much influence he had on her—her mannerisms, her behavior, even her way of thinking… She simply said, “You should continue teaching Tingge to write.”
Yining tried to push thoughts of Luo Shen Yuan from her mind. Thinking about him wouldn’t bring him any closer.
After teaching Tingge for half the day, Cheng Lang announced he was leaving. Yining had a maid see him out.
She then went to the small kitchen, rolling up her sleeves to prepare a special pumpkin dessert.
This was her specialty—steamed pumpkin mixed with glutinous rice flour, filled with red bean paste and brown sugar, then lightly pan-fried. When eaten, the outside was crispy while the inside remained soft. Biting into it released a sweet, fragrant juice. She had developed this recipe when she was very young, and it became her signature dish after everyone who tried it loved it. It appealed to both young and old alike.
She intended to make it for Tingge as a reward for his hard work practicing writing.
Songzhi helped her, smiling as she said, “I had no idea you could make this!”
Yining thought to herself that it was because she had been too lazy to cook when she was with the Luo family. But while she was skilled at making these small desserts, she wasn’t particularly adept at preparing larger dishes.
When finished, she placed the treats on a white porcelain plate with a blue-and-white twisted branch pattern and carried it to the warm room.
Tingge smelled the aroma first and turned his head toward the door.
Yining set the plate on a small table and served some to Tingge in a small bowl.
Tingge’s little nose twitched as he picked up one of the cakes, looking dubious. “What is this made of?” The desserts he usually ate were always exquisitely crafted; he had never seen anything so plain.
“The outside is pumpkin, and it’s filled with red bean paste and brown sugar,” Yining explained, noticing his hesitation. Realizing he probably found them unappealing, she added, “If you don’t want to eat them, I can take them away.”
Tempted by the aroma, Tingge took a small bite. Immediately, a burst of sweet juice mixed with the fragrance of red beans filled his mouth. Being sensitive to heat, he jumped up, exclaiming that it was too hot. Mama Tong, who had been watching nearby, was startled and quickly brought him tea. “Are you badly burned? Let me check if there’s any serious damage.”
Tingge gulped down several mouthfuls of water from the teapot, then looked at Yining, who stood silently to the side. His sense of grievance multiplied. Why wasn’t she saying anything? Didn’t she see he had been burned? And it was her fault! Why wouldn’t she comfort him? Why was she just standing there without a word?
Yining, for her part, didn’t think it was a big deal. She knew exactly how hot the desserts were. Tingge was simply being overly sensitive.
To her surprise, Tingge clutched the teapot, his eyes welling up as he said, “You burned me!” He looked small and utterly pitiful.
Yining couldn’t help but feel both amused and exasperated. She went over and patted his head. “How about I apologize to you?”
Of course, a burn should be cooled, but there was no way to blow on his tongue. Tingge realized this and decided there was no point in staying angry. After all, she had apologized. He nodded reluctantly, forgiving Yining. The dessert was quite tasty, so he asked Mama Tong to hand him his small bowl. He wanted to continue eating.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded from behind. Yining turned to see Cheng Lang entering the room. She was about to ask why he had returned when she noticed him looking at the plate on the small table.
“Cousin Cheng Lang, did you forget something?” Yining asked.
Cheng Lang didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up a piece from the plate and slowly ate it. His expression changed completely, as if shocked.
Luo Yining felt a sense of foreboding as he stared at her. She walked towards him and asked, “What’s wrong…”
Unexpectedly, Cheng Lang grabbed her wrist and asked in a low voice, “This dessert—who taught you how to make it?”
Cheng Lang’s sudden action startled everyone in the room. Zhenzhu jumped up, trying to pull him away. What was he doing in front of everyone?
“Young Master, please let go! If the Duke finds out about this, it would be terrible!” Zhenzhu pleaded.
Yining’s heart raced as he gripped her wrist. How could she have forgotten? This was Cheng Lang’s favorite dessert! She used to make it for him often when they were young.
Cheng Lang must remember this dessert!
“I made it myself!” Yining said coldly, trying to twist her wrist free. “Let go of me. Don’t you know it’s improper for men and women to touch?”
But he held on tightly, almost painfully. Gone was his usual easy-going demeanor. “Who taught you?” Seeing that Yining wouldn’t answer, he pressed further, “Tell me!”
Songzhi, standing nearby, was extremely anxious. “Young Master, our Miss truly never learned this from anyone else! I’ve been by her side the whole time, I would know. Please let go, you’re hurting our Miss’s wrist!”
Several maids came forward to pull him away. Cheng Lang finally released Luo Yining’s hand but continued to stare at her intently.
Yining stumbled back against the small table, feeling somewhat flustered. She rubbed her sore wrist, suddenly feeling trapped. In front of these people who knew her well, even a small, seemingly insignificant detail could expose her and put her in danger. This was just Cheng Lang—if Lu Jiaxue were to interact with her closely, given how well he knew her…
Yining couldn’t control her trembling and closed her eyes. Zhenzhu and the others, thinking she was upset by the incident, quickly gathered around to comfort her.
Tingge watched the scene with surprise. Was Cousin Cheng Lang… bullying her?
His first thought was whether he should tell his father. Father would surely give Cheng Lang a severe scolding to even the score. But he hesitated, unsure if he should intervene on her behalf…
Songzhi, however, had already stood up. With slightly reddened eyes, she looked at Cheng Lang and said, “Young Master, don’t think our Miss is easy to bully! She may have come from outside, but she’s still a proper young lady of the Duke of Ying’s household. What are you trying to do? How can you be so disrespectful!”
Seeing Yining remain silent for so long, her slender body trembling slightly, the chaotic emotions in Cheng Lang’s heart began to settle.
He had lost his composure. After all… it had been over ten years since her death. They had found her remains at the bottom of the cliff back then; there was no mistaking it. But seeing this now still shook him to his core. It was the same as in his memory, and no one else could have made something identical.
“I’m sorry,” Cheng Lang said hoarsely, his voice low. “I’ll come another day to apologize properly. I’m afraid I can’t continue today… I’m sorry.”
Cheng Lang turned and left the warm room, his figure quickly disappearing down the corridor.
Yining watched him leave, then stood up with Songzhi’s support. She suddenly felt angry at her carelessness. This could have been avoided! Only she knew how to make this dessert, and it was Cheng Lang’s favorite. Of course, he would remember it vividly. How could she have forgotten for a moment?
Zhenzhu looked at her with concern and said softly, “Miss, Young Master Cheng isn’t usually like this… I don’t know what came over him today.”
A small maid picked up a token from the floor and said, “Young Master Cheng forgot his waist token…”
Yining, still not fully composed, waved her hand to silence them. After a while, she said, “What happened here today… no one is to tell Father about it, understand?”
The maids in the room exchanged glances. Even Tingge remained silent, the room unnaturally quiet.