Chun Tao nearly collapsed after hearing Shen Jin’s brilliant idea. “Miss, are you *sure* you want to bring that… thing to the Crown Prince’s banquet?” Her voice trembled.
“Of course.” Shen Jin stretched out her legs, leaning comfortably against the pillow. “Why, is it not allowed?”
“That’s His Highness’s spring banquet! All the prominent young ladies of the capital will be there! They’ll bring poems, embroidery, talents… and you’re bringing… bringing…”
“What’s wrong with sunflower seeds?” Shen Jin said righteously. “Watching a performance without cracking seeds—what kind of performance is that?”
Chun Tao opened her mouth, wanting to argue, but no words came. Somehow, Miss’s logic almost made sense… No, wait! The spring banquet isn’t even for watching plays! But she knew better than to try persuading her mistress. Lately, once Shen Jin decided on something, not even nine oxen could drag her back.
“…How many should I pack?” Chun Tao asked, resigned.
“Not too much, just a small pouch.” Shen Jin thought for a moment. “Oh, and bring some osmanthus candy too. Seeds alone make your mouth dry.”
“…Yes, Miss.” Chun Tao went off to prepare, while Shen Jin lay back, quite pleased with herself.
The spring banquet. She wanted to see if, without the original Shen Jin’s foolish antics, this “scene” could still play out as written.
Two days later, at the Eastern Palace.
The Crown Prince Xiao Yu’s banquet was held in the Liufang Pavilion—facing the gardens, backed by a lotus pond, the perfect spot.
In March, the capital’s peach blossoms were in full bloom. The palace gardens held hundreds of trees, pink and white like clouds and mist.
By the time Shen Jin arrived, the pavilion was already filled. A dozen young ladies sat on either side, dressed in silks and jewels, each looking as if they were competing in a beauty pageant.
Shen Jin glanced down at herself: a plain blue-green robe, a single magnolia hairpin, a light dusting of powder, and a touch of lip color. Not shabby, but undeniably simple.
Chun Tao whispered behind her, “Miss, are you really not changing? This is far too plain…”
“What’s wrong with plain?” Shen Jin smiled. “Plain means no one will pay me any mind.”
Chun Tao looked around at the curious stares. *Miss, even if you wore a sack, they’d still pay attention. Your reputation rings too loudly in this circle—everyone’s waiting to see your downfall.*
Sure enough, the moment Shen Jin stepped in, someone spoke up.
“Well, well, Miss Shen has arrived.” It was Lin Wanqing, daughter of the Minister of Personnel. Oval face, phoenix eyes, dressed in crimson silk with a golden hairpiece dangling pearls—radiant and imposing.
In the original story, Lin Wanqing was one of Shen Jin’s fiercest rivals. Equal in family background, both infatuated with the Crown Prince, they had sparred endlessly.
Shen Jin looked at her, smiled, and said warmly, “Greetings, Sister Lin.”
Lin Wanqing froze. The old Shen Jin would have sneered, “My, Lin Sister, you’ve dressed so *earnestly* today,” before launching into verbal combat. But now she was… polite? Calling her “Sister Lin”?
Lin Wanqing’s prepared barbs died in her throat, leaving her red-faced.
Shen Jin walked past her and sat in a corner seat.
Chun Tao whispered, “Miss, why sit so far aside?”
“The corner’s perfect.” Shen Jin pulled out a cloth pouch from her sleeve. “No one notices you there.”
Chun Tao nearly fainted. *Miss, the moment you pulled out that pouch, every eye in the room turned to you!*
Indeed, several young ladies gawked as Shen Jin calmly took out sunflower seeds and began cracking them open.
“What is Shen Jin doing?”
“She’s… eating seeds?”
“In the Eastern Palace? At the Crown Prince’s banquet?”
“Has she lost her mind?”
Whispers rippled through the hall.
Shen Jin ignored them, focused on her snack. The seeds Chun Tao had bought yesterday were five-spice flavored, roasted to perfection—salty, fragrant, and crisp.
*Crack—ptoo.*
*Crack—ptoo.*
The crisp rhythm of seed-cracking echoed through the pavilion.
Finally, Lin Wanqing couldn’t hold back. She set down her teacup, smiling thinly. “Sister Shen, are those seeds tasty?”
“They’re delicious.” Shen Jin looked up sincerely. “Would Sister Lin like some?”
Lin Wanqing: “…” She had meant to shame Shen Jin for her lack of decorum. Instead, Shen Jin invited her to join in. How was she supposed to respond to that?
“…No, thank you.” Lin Wanqing lifted her teacup again, hiding the twitch at her lips.
The other young ladies exchanged bewildered glances. Had Shen Jinshu taken the wrong medicine today? Where was the prickly, sharp‑tongued Shen Jinshu of old? And who was this smiling woman, cracking seeds as if nothing mattered?
“His Highness the Crown Prince arrives—!” At the eunuch’s cry, everyone rose in unison.
Shen Jin stood too, though she still held half a sunflower seed between her fingers.
The Crown Prince, Xiao Yu, entered from outside. He wore a dark ceremonial robe and a golden crown, his features handsome, his bearing commanding.
Shen Jin gave him a quick once‑over. Yes, he looked good. But compared to Xiao Heng… a little lacking. Wait—why was she comparing the Crown Prince to Xiao Heng? She slapped herself mentally.
The Crown Prince took his seat at the head, his gaze sweeping over the gathered ladies. When his eyes landed on Shen Jin, they paused—his brow faintly furrowing. Clearly, he had no fond impression of her.
Shen Jin pretended not to notice, popped the half seed into her mouth, and chewed.
“Please be seated,” the Crown Prince said with a wave.
Everyone sat.
He spoke a few polite phrases—“spring is at its finest,” “let us enjoy it together”—but Shen Jin didn’t hear a word. She had noticed someone missing.
Su Qingyin. The heroine of the original tale, daughter of Marquis Yongning, the Crown Prince’s beloved. Why wasn’t she here?
In the book, Su Qingyin had attended and recited a poem that stunned the crowd and deepened the Crown Prince’s affection. But today—no sign of her. Had the plot shifted? Or was she simply delayed?
As Shen Jin pondered, a maid hurried in and whispered to the Crown Prince. His expression visibly dimmed for a moment, though he quickly recovered. “Miss Su is unwell and cannot attend today,” he announced.
Among the ladies, some sighed in relief, some looked disappointed, and others smirked.
Shen Jin set her seeds aside.
So Su Qingyin wasn’t coming. Then who would play the lead in today’s drama? And if no one did… could she slip away early? She was just considering excuses when Lin Wanqing spoke up.
“Your Highness, since the spring light is so fine, why not let the sisters present display their talents to entertain you?”
The Crown Prince nodded. “Excellent.”
Lin Wanqing rose, bowed, and said, “Though unworthy, I would like to play a piece for Your Highness—*Spring River, Flower, Moonlit Night*.”
A maid brought out a guqin. Lin Wanqing sat, her slender fingers dancing across the strings. The melody was elegant, flowing—truly beautiful.
Shen Jin kept cracking seeds.
When Lin Wanqing finished, the hall erupted in applause.
Next came Wang Caiwei, daughter of the Assistant Minister of Rites, who performed a graceful dance. Then Li Nian, daughter of a Hanlin scholar, painted a delicate picture of peach blossoms. One after another, each displayed her talent.
By then, Shen Jin had finished half her pouch of sunflower seeds.
“Little Sister Shen,” Lin Wanqing suddenly turned her spear toward her, “all the sisters have already performed. Only you remain. What talent have you prepared today?”
Every gaze fell on Shen Jin. In those eyes were expectation, the thrill of watching a spectacle, and a trace of malice.
Everyone knew Shen Jinshu had no real talents. What she could do—horse riding, archery, polo—were men’s pursuits. As for the refined arts of qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting, she was mediocre at best. In the past, she would either make excuses or force herself to perform, only to be ridiculed. Today, they waited eagerly for her disgrace.
Shen Jin cracked her last seed, brushed the crumbs from her hands, and stood. “I did prepare a talent.”
The room froze.
Lin Wanqing’s smile stiffened. “And what talent might that be?”
Shen Jin drew out a pouch of osmanthus candy, opened it, picked up a piece, and popped it into her mouth. “Eating sweets,” she said.
The hall fell silent.
The Crown Prince’s hand paused mid‑lift with his teacup.
Lin Wanqing’s mouth formed a perfect “O.” Wang Caiwei dropped her peach blossom brush. Li Nian’s freshly painted scroll fluttered away in the breeze, forgotten.
All eyes fixed on Shen Jin—on her cheeks puffed with candy, her expression blissful like a cat that had stolen a fish.
*Crunch.* She bit down on the sugar. “Delicious,” she sighed sincerely.
“Shen Jinshu!” Lin Wanqing finally exploded, leaping to her feet. “What do you mean by this? To behave so rudely before His Highness—!”
“How am I rude?” Shen Jin looked at her innocently. “Sister Lin plays the qin, Sister Wang dances, Sister Li paints. I eat candy. Why is theirs polite and mine rude? Isn’t a spring banquet meant for enjoying flowers, eating pastries, and chatting? I’m eating nothing shameful—just osmanthus candy.”
Lin Wanqing choked, unable to reply.
The Crown Prince set down his cup, his gaze complicated as it lingered on Shen Jin. This woman was different today. In the past, she had always tried desperately to catch his eye—dressing extravagantly, reciting poems, performing with exaggerated effort. Every time, too much. Today she wore plain clothes, sat in a corner, cracked seeds and ate candy, smiling at everyone—except him. From the moment he entered, she hadn’t looked at him once. He couldn’t quite name the feeling. She used to annoy him. Now that she didn’t… he felt strangely unsettled.
“Miss Shen,” the Crown Prince finally spoke, “you are very different today.”
Shen Jin swallowed her candy and met his gaze. Their eyes locked. In his was inquiry, scrutiny, and something she couldn’t decipher. She smiled. “Your Highness,” she said, “people change.”
“Why change?”
“Because some things become clear.”
“What things?”
Shen Jin’s voice was steady: “What doesn’t belong to you, no amount of forcing will make it yours. Better to let go—free others and free yourself.”
The words were too plain, too direct. Everyone understood.
She was speaking of the Crown Prince.
She was speaking of her former infatuation.
She was saying she had let go.
The pavilion was so quiet one could hear peach blossoms falling.
The Crown Prince was silent for a long time, then nodded slowly. “Miss Shen’s clarity is a good thing.”
“It is,” Shen Jin agreed, smiling as she sat back down. She pulled out another piece of osmanthus candy. “So, Your Highness, you needn’t avoid me anymore. I won’t cling to you again.”
Her words were open, unresentful, even lighthearted. As if letting go of him was a relief.
The Crown Prince looked at her calm smile, and something inside him hollowed out unexpectedly. Before he could examine the feeling, footsteps sounded outside. “The heir of Marquis Dingyuan arrives—!”
Xiao Heng had come. Shen Jin nearly spat out her candy. What was he doing here? The spring banquet was supposed to be for women! She turned toward the doorway—just in time to meet Xiao Heng’s gaze. He wore a moon‑white robe, a jade belt at his waist, his dark hair bound with a silver crown. Elegant, refined, untouchable. His eyes swept the pavilion, then settled on her. On her puffed cheeks, the candy in her hand, the sugar stain at her lips. And then he smiled—a faint smile, but full of meaning. As if to say: *I knew you’d stir up trouble, so I came to watch.*
Shen Jin: “……” She swallowed the candy and cursed silently.