After finishing her meal, Shen Jin began to seriously consider one question—how much money she actually had. “Chun Tao, how much silver do I have on me?”
Chun Tao pulled out a small pouch from her sleeve, opened it, and counted: “When we went out, this servant brought two taels of broken silver and a few hundred copper coins.”
Two taels of silver. In modern terms, one tael of silver was roughly equivalent to a few hundred RMB. Two taels meant about a thousand RMB.
Not enough. Setting up a stall might barely be possible, but once you factored in buying ingredients, renting a spot, making a signboard—this little bit of money wouldn’t cover much.
Shen Jin thought it over and decided not to go to the market today. Money had to be spent wisely. She needed a detailed plan first, not random purchases.
“Let’s go back.”
“Back to the manor?” Chun Tao asked.
“Mm.” Shen Jin tidied up the kitchen, washed the dishes, and put everything away. “That’s enough for today. We’ll come out again tomorrow.”
The two locked the door and left Tianshui Lane. At the mouth of the alley stood an inconspicuous carriage with a green canopy. As Shen Jin passed by, she glanced at it casually. Then she stopped. Not because the carriage was unusual, but because the curtain had been lifted slightly—and behind it was a pair of eyes—eyes she had seen before.
That morning, when she thought she was dreaming, those eyes had opened in the darkness, gleaming like starlight, pulling her in.
Shen Jin froze.
The curtain dropped back down. But it was too late. She had seen him.
Xiao Heng, the second male lead. The man she had spent one spring night with. The man who had sent her gifts, medicine, pastries, and even had her house cleaned. Now sitting in that carriage at the alley’s entrance.
Shen Jin’s mind raced. What was he doing here? Coincidence? Or deliberate? If deliberate—had he seen her cooking? Eating rice soaked in soup? Nearly cutting her hand while slicing radish? Her face flushed red.
Not from shyness, but from sheer mortification. Like realizing someone had been watching while you danced in pajamas at home.
“Miss?” Chun Tao looked back, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Shen Jin took a deep breath and kept walking. She pretended not to notice the carriage, pretended nothing had happened. But after two steps, she stopped again. No. Why should she run? She hadn’t done anything shameful. Cooking wasn’t a crime. Which law of Great Yan forbade a general’s daughter from cooking in her own house? As for Xiao Heng—he was the one following her. He should be the guilty one, not her.
Shen Jin turned and strode toward the carriage.
Chun Tao hurried after her: “Miss! Miss, where are you going?”
Inside, Xiao Heng clearly noticed her approach. There was a faint sound of movement, as if he were adjusting his posture.
Steward Chen, standing by the carriage, saw Shen Jin marching over with such force that his face changed. Instinctively, he raised a hand to block her. “This young lady—”
“Move.” Shen Jin didn’t even look at him. Her momentum stunned him; his hand froze midair, unsure whether to stop her.
Shen Jin yanked the curtain aside.
Xiao Heng sat inside. Today he wore a robe of bamboo-green, his hair bound with a jade crown. He looked fresh and composed. His face was still unfairly handsome, but his expression was subtle. Not guilty at being caught, nor annoyed at being confronted. Rather, a calm acceptance—“I’ve been found, so be it.” Even with a faint smile.
“Miss Shen.” He inclined his head slightly, his voice as pleasant as ever. “What a coincidence.”
Shen Jin nearly laughed in disbelief. Coincidence? At her doorstep?
“Your Lordship,” she leaned down, bracing her hands on the carriage frame, looking down at him, “what are you doing here?”
“Passing by.”
“Passing by Tianshui Lane?”
“Mm.”
“You mean, from the Marquis’s residence to the east city, you just happen to pass through Tianshui Lane? Tianshui Lane is in the south. You’ve gone halfway around the capital.”
Xiao Heng paused, then smiled.
That smile was beautiful—Shen Jin had to admit it. But beauty didn’t pay the bills.
“Your Lordship,” Shen Jin lowered her voice, “are you following me?”
Xiao Heng looked at her. Neither denying nor admitting. “Miss Shen,” he said, “you left early this morning with no attendants, no guards, just one maid. Does your father know?”
Shen Jin: “…” He was turning the tables?
“Whether my father knows or not is none of your concern.”
“A young lady, unmarried, wandering outside alone—it isn’t safe.”
“Safe or not is still none of your concern.”
Xiao Heng’s gaze held hers, serious. “What if I say—it is my concern?”
The air went still.
Shen Jin’s heart skipped, but she quickly steadied herself.
“No, it isn’t.” She said firmly. “Your Lordship, we agreed—pretend nothing ever happened. You don’t owe me, I don’t owe you. You walk your broad road, I cross my narrow bridge. We don’t interfere.” She dropped the curtain and turned to leave.
After a few steps, she looked back and added: “And stop sending people to watch me. I’m not running away.”
Inside the carriage, Xiao Heng sat quietly. The curtain was down, but her voice lingered in his ears. “Stop sending people to watch me. I’m not going to run.”
He savored those words, and the corners of his mouth slowly curved upward. Not going to run?
Just a few days ago, she wanted nothing more than to run. Run from the Marquis’s residence, run from the General’s manor, run from anywhere she found troublesome. But now she said she wouldn’t. Did that mean she was starting to see this place as home? Or was it simply that she couldn’t be bothered to run anymore?
Xiao Heng shook his head. This woman was becoming harder and harder to read. The records he’d dug up painted Shen Jinshu as brainless—impulsive, reckless, quick to explode at the slightest provocation. But the Shen Jinshu before him now was sharp, quick-witted, venom-tongued, and—utterly unpredictable. Any ordinary young lady, catching sight of him at the alley’s mouth, would either pretend not to see or blush and flee. She, however, had marched straight up, flung open the curtain, and confronted him face-to-face. And after questioning him, she’d even tossed in a parting shot: “Stop sending people to watch me.” How was that brainless? That was a mind working far too well.
“Steward Chen,” Xiao Heng called.
Steward Chen lifted the curtain. “My lord.”
“When we return, have the hidden posts pulled back farther. Don’t let them follow too closely. Don’t let her notice.”
“Yes.”
“And one more thing.” Xiao Heng paused. “That… meal she cooked today in her house. Have the kitchen replicate it and send it to my study for supper.”
“…Yes.”
Steward Chen obeyed, though inwardly he muttered. Was the young master… addicted now?
Shen Jin left Tianshui Lane only to realize her heart was pounding wildly. She stopped, pressed a hand to her chest, and drew several deep breaths.
Calm down. Calm down.
Xiao Heng was just the second male lead, the heroine’s backup in the original story. He had nothing to do with her. Her only connection to him was that one night. And that night was already behind them. He had said, “As you wish.” She had said, “We’ll keep to our own paths.”
They had reached an understanding. So there would be no more entanglements. Yes. That was how it would be.
“Miss, what’s wrong?” Chun Tao caught up, panting. “Do you know the man in the carriage?”
Shen Jin thought for a moment, then decided not to hide it. Some things couldn’t be concealed anyway. Chun Tao was her closest person; she would need her help for many things in the future.
“I know him,” she said. “The heir of the Dingyuan Marquisate, Xiao Heng.”
Chun Tao’s eyes went wide as copper bells. “Heir Xiao?! The capital’s number one beauty, that Heir Xiao?!”
“Mm.”
“Then why was he here? And why did he say those things to you?”
“How should I know?” Shen Jin quickened her pace. “Maybe he’s just bored.”
Chun Tao followed, half-convinced, half-doubtful. The atmosphere between her mistress and Heir Xiao didn’t feel right. Not like two people who had merely met once at a banquet. More like… two who had known each other for a long time. Or perhaps… something had happened.
Chun Tao was startled by her own thought, quickly shaking her head to drive it away. Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Everyone in the capital knew that her mistress liked the Crown Prince. There was no way she had anything with Heir Xiao. No way.
Back at the General’s Manor, Shen Jin hadn’t even had time to change clothes before being stopped at the gates of Jinse Pavilion.
Shen Zhao. Her half-brother. Dressed in a pale moon-white robe, a dark green palace sash at his waist, folding fan in hand—playing the part of a charming young gentleman.
Shen Jin rolled her eyes inwardly. What kind of luck was this? Out once and she ran into Xiao Heng, back once and she ran into Shen Zhao. Maybe she should have her fortune read.
“Little sister,” Shen Zhao smiled as he approached, “out so early?”
“Mm.”
“Where did you go?”
“Just wandering.”
His gaze swept over her—from her simple hair bun to her plain clothes without adornment, down to the faint dusting of flour on her sleeve. “Wandering, and somehow flour ends up on your sleeve?”
Shen Jin glanced down. Indeed, she hadn’t noticed when it got there. “Had a bowl of noodles,” she said.
“Noodles?” Shen Zhao chuckled. “What noodle shop leaves flour on your sleeve?”
Shen Jin looked at him and smiled back. “Is brother asking on Father’s behalf, or his own?”
His fan paused midair. “Of course on Father’s behalf.” He folded it shut. “Father said you’re to go to the main hall when you return.”
“Got it.” Shen Jin brushed past him into the courtyard.
As the gate closed, Shen Zhao’s smile vanished. He stood there, staring at the words “Jinse Pavilion,” his eyes dark. This sister was not the same. Before, whenever she came back from an outing, she would loudly boast about where she’d gone, who she’d met, what she’d bought. Today, she said nothing. Either she had gone somewhere she couldn’t mention. Or met someone she shouldn’t have.
Shen Zhao narrowed his eyes. He would have to investigate.
In the main hall, Shen Chongyuan was drinking tea. When Shen Jin entered, he set down his cup and looked her over.
“Where did you go?”
“Out wandering.” Shen Jin sat down, took the tea her maid handed her, and sipped.
“Barely out of confinement and already running about. Aren’t you afraid of gossip?”
“I left through the back gate. No one saw.”
He snorted. “No one saw? You think everyone in this manor is blind?”
Shen Jin stayed silent. She knew he hadn’t called her here just to ask about her whereabouts.
Sure enough, after a pause, Shen Chongyuan said: “There’s something you need to know.”
“What is it?”
“The Crown Prince will host a Spring Banquet at the Eastern Palace in two days. Invitations have gone out to all the young ladies of noble families. Yours has arrived.”
Shen Jin’s hand holding the teacup faltered.
The Spring Banquet. An important event in the original story. It was there that the original Shen Jinshu, goaded by jealous rivals, publicly confessed to the Crown Prince—only to be rejected, becoming the laughingstock of the entire capital. It was also one of the turning points that led her toward suicide.
“I’m not going.” Shen Jin set down her cup.
Shen Chongyuan blinked. “What did you say?”
“I said I’m not going.”
“Why?”
“I’m unwell.”
“You just said you went strolling. Unwell people don’t stroll.”
“Strolling made me unwell.”
His beard trembled with fury. “Shen Jinshu! The Crown Prince’s Spring Banquet—every notable young lady in the capital will attend. If you don’t, what will people think of the Shen family?”
“Let them think what they want.” Shen Jin rose to her feet. “Father, I truly don’t want to go.”
“You must go!”
Looking at Shen Chongyuan puffing his beard and glaring, Shen Jin suddenly felt a pang of softness. This father—though often harsh—at the core still cared for her. It was just that his way of caring was different from modern fathers. He was a general; he needed face, he needed the Shen family to stand tall in the capital. If she refused to attend the Spring Banquet, people would indeed talk.
Shen Jin sighed. “Fine, I’ll go.”
Relief flickered across his face. “That’s better.”
“But I have one condition.”
“What condition?”
“Once I’m there, I’ll do as I please, say what I please—you’re not allowed to interfere.”
His brows furrowed. “What tricks are you planning now?”
“I’m not planning anything,” Shen Jin said seriously. “I just want to live my own way. I’ve had enough of those days spent currying favor with everyone.”
Shen Chongyuan studied her eyes. Gone were the old restlessness and hostility. In its place was a calm he had never seen before, as if nothing mattered, or as if everything were under her control.
“…Fine.” Against his better judgment, he agreed.
Shen Jin smiled. “Thank you, Father.” She turned and left.
He sat in the hall, watching her back, his brows knotted tight. This child was becoming less and less like herself. But he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly had changed. Just… different.
Back at Jinse Pavilion, Shen Jin collapsed onto her bed.
The Spring Banquet. The Crown Prince. And all those young ladies waiting to laugh at her.
She recalled the scenes from the original story, her head aching. But she couldn’t avoid it.
The original Shen Jinshu had “no choice but to go.” For her, it was “safer to go”—because only by attending could she prove she had given up on the Crown Prince. Only by showing everyone she no longer pined for him could she escape the original fate. She rolled over, staring at the canopy above. She knew roughly what would happen at the banquet.
But the novel hadn’t been detailed; many specifics were hazy. She only remembered that the original had been humiliated in public, fled the Eastern Palace in tears, and became the capital’s biggest laughingstock.
Now, Shen Jin’s task was to turn that “laughingstock” into a “reversal.”
How? She thought for a moment, then suddenly sat up.
An idea. A brilliant idea.
“Chun Tao!” she called.
Chun Tao hurried in. “Miss?”
“For the Spring Banquet, prepare something for me.”
“What thing?”
Shen Jin leaned close and whispered a few words.
Chun Tao’s eyes went wide, stunned.
“Miss… are you sure?”
“Sure.” Shen Jin’s smile curved, her eyes bright. “I’m sure.”
She would make it clear to everyone— Shen Jinshu was done playing servant.