The moment Xiao Heng appeared, the atmosphere in Liufang Pavilion shifted. Not because he was the “second male lead,” but because he was *the most handsome man in the capital*. A dozen young ladies turned their heads toward the doorway in unison—some blushed, some ducked their heads, some fussed with their hair as if by accident.
Shen Jin noticed all of it and sighed inwardly: *same world, same lovestruck look.*
“Cousin, you’re here.” The Crown Prince rose casually. “Sit.”
Xiao Heng bowed and took the seat just below the crown prince—directly opposite Shen Jin.
Shen Jin: *…Really? Of all places, you had to sit across from me?* She lowered her head, pretending to be absorbed in peeling the wrapper off her osmanthus candy.
“Cousin, why the change of heart?” the crown prince asked. “You declined my invitation.”
“Changed my mind at the last minute.” Xiao Heng accepted the maid’s tea, sipping lightly. “I heard today’s spring banquet was lively, so I came to see.”
The word *lively* carried weight. Shen Jin suspected he meant *her*. She pretended not to hear.
“Miss Shen,” his voice drifted across, “that osmanthus candy looks delicious.”
She looked up, meeting his smiling eyes. “Yes. It is.”
“May I have one?”
Shen Jin stared at the candy in her hand, then at him. *Is he insane? The heir of a marquis, asking a girl for candy in public?* Still, she passed him the piece she’d unwrapped.
He popped it into his mouth. “Sweet.”
Shen Jin: *…Even eating candy, he manages to flirt. Truly the male lead’s rival.*
The other young ladies’ gazes shifted. *Xiao Heng and Shen Jinshu? Since when were they so close?*
Lin Wanqing’s face darkened. She adored the Crown Prince, yes—but who wouldn’t want a few glances from the city’s most beautiful man? Yet Xiao Heng had never looked at her properly, let alone asked her for candy.
“Lord Xiao,” Lin Wanqing said with a smile, “are you and Sister Shen very familiar?”
He glanced at her. “Met a few times.”
“Only a few times?” Her smile sharpened. “Then you must be kindred spirits—so close already.”
The sourness was unmistakable. Shen Jin rolled her eyes inwardly and kept peeling her candy. She had come to *watch* the play, not *perform* in it.
But some people refused to let her.
“Little Sister Shen,” Lin Wanqing pressed, “you just said, ‘What isn’t yours, forcing it won’t work.’ Such wise words. I wonder—what exactly did you mean by ‘thing’?”
A naked provocation. She wanted Shen Jin to say “the Crown Prince” aloud, to brand herself forever as his lovesick fool.
Shen Jin smiled. “What do you think, Sister Lin?”
“How should I know what’s in your heart? That’s why I asked.”
Shen Jin popped the candy into her mouth, chewing slowly. The pavilion fell silent, everyone waiting. The Crown Prince watched her, eyes complicated. Xiao Heng watched too, lips curved faintly.
She swallowed and brushed the crumbs from her hands. “Sister Lin, how old are you this year?”
Lin Wanqing blinked. “Seventeen. Why?”
“Seventeen, and not yet betrothed?”
Her face flushed scarlet. “Why—why ask that?”
“Oh, nothing.” Shen Jin smiled sweetly. “Just thought, since Sister Lin cares so much about what’s in my heart, perhaps you should care more about your own future. Seventeen already—if you don’t hurry, all the good men will be taken.”
Lin Wanqing’s face went from red to white to green. The words cut deep. In this era, seventeen and unengaged meant “leftover.” Her greatest sore spot. “Shen Jinshu! You—”
“What about me?” Shen Jin tilted her head. “I was only kindly reminding you. Surely you don’t think I’m mocking you?”
Lin Wanqing trembled with rage, but before the crown prince and Xiao Heng, she couldn’t explode. She forced a smile. “You jest. My marriage is my parents’ concern, not yours.”
“Good.” Shen Jin nodded, pulling out another candy.
Lin Wanqing sat stiffly, fingers whitening around her teacup. Wang Caiwei whispered for her to calm down, earning a glare.
The air grew tense.
The Crown Prince lifted his cup, hiding a smile. *How had he never noticed Shen Jinshu was this entertaining?*
Xiao Heng didn’t smile, but his gaze stayed fixed on her—like a hunter watching prey. Shen Jin squirmed under it, finally glaring back. He caught her look, and instead of retreating, his lips curved further.
Shen Jin: *…Ignore him. Ignore him.*
The banquet rolled on. Dishes arrived in a glittering stream. Shen Jin sampled them: steamed perch—too salty; osmanthus lotus root—too sweet; jade shrimp—stale. She sighed. *The Crown Prince’s cooks are mediocre. My rice soup is better.*
“Miss Shen doesn’t seem pleased with the food?” Xiao Heng’s voice again.
She looked up. “No, it’s fine.”
“You frowned.”
“I was born this way.”
He chuckled softly and said no more.
The Crown Prince glanced between them, sensing something he couldn’t name. “Cousin,” he asked suddenly, “what do you think of Miss Shen?”
Xiao Heng’s hand paused on his teacup. “In what respect?”
“All respects. She seems different today.” He looked at Shen Jin. She was battling a piece of lotus root, oblivious. “Indeed different.”
“How so?”
“In every way.”
The crown prince arched a brow. “Vague words.”
Xiao Heng set down his cup, gaze steady. “Your Highness, what she *was* doesn’t matter. What she *will be* does.”
The crown prince blinked, then laughed. “Since when do you care so much about her?”
Xiao Heng didn’t answer. He only watched Shen Jin, eyes deep.
The crown prince followed his gaze—just in time to see her bite into the lotus root, grimace, and shove the rest back onto the plate. He burst out laughing. “Interesting,” he said. “Truly interesting.”
Near the banquet’s end, a small incident occurred. So small, yet everyone remembered it. Because it completely changed the Crown Prince’s impression of Shen Jin.
And it all began…with a single dish—A dish was served to the wrong person.
The maid should have brought the Crown Prince “Golden Abundance”—a sweet soup of pumpkin and lily bulbs. But somewhere along the line, it was swapped for “Lovesick Red Bean Soup.” Sweet though it was, the meaning was dangerous.
“Lovesick” was taboo before the Crown Prince. Everyone in the capital knew Shen Jinshu had once pined for him.
The maid’s face went pale as she set it down.
Lin Wanqing’s eyes lit up. “Oh my, why red bean soup? Who ordered this?”
No one answered. The maid dropped to her knees, trembling.
The Crown Prince’s expression darkened. Whoever had arranged this- the message was clear: Shen Jinshu’s longing for him—a slap to his face—and hers.
Shen Jin looked at the bowl and instantly understood. Someone had engineered this. Whether Lin Wanqing, Madam Zhou, or another, it didn’t matter. What mattered was how to respond.
All eyes turned to her. The Crown Prince watched. Xiao Heng watched. Lin Wanqing waited for the spectacle.
Shen Jin set down her chopsticks, rose, and walked to the bowl. “This dish,” she said, “was ordered by me.”
Gasps rippled through the room.
The Crown Prince’s face grew darker. Lin Wanqing nearly laughed aloud. Xiao Heng’s eyes narrowed.
Shen Jin lifted the bowl and turned to face them all. “But not because I wished to confess.”
“Then why?” Lin Wanqing pressed eagerly.
Shen Jin smiled. “Because I heard the palace cooks make red bean soup especially well. I wanted to taste it. That’s all.”
“You—” Lin Wanqing faltered.
“What’s wrong?” Shen Jin blinked innocently. “Surely Sister Lin doesn’t believe a bowl of red bean soup *means* anything? If tomorrow the kitchen serves tofu and cabbage, does that mean I plan to become a nun?”
Several young ladies burst into laughter.
The Crown Prince’s lips twitched; he stifled a smile.
Lin Wanqing’s face burned crimson.
Shen Jin carried the bowl back to her seat, scooped a spoonful, and ate. “Mmm.” She nodded. “Delicious. The palace cooks deserve their reputation.” Then she finished the entire bowl—clean, not a bean left. Setting it down, she smiled at the Crown Prince. “Your Highness, thank you for the treat.”
He studied her for a long moment. Then he smiled too—genuine, amused. “Miss Shen,” he said, “you are most interesting.”
She dabbed her lips with a handkerchief. “Thank you, Your Highness. But interesting or not doesn’t matter. What matters is—the food was good, the flowers are beautiful, and today was delightful.” She rose. “It grows late. I shall take my leave.”
The Crown Prince nodded.
Shen Jin bowed and turned to go. Chun Tao hurried after her, clutching the bag of osmanthus candy.
At the doorway, Shen Jin paused. She glanced back at Xiao Heng. He was watching her, eyes filled with laughter, admiration, and something she couldn’t name. She gave him a small nod—half greeting, half farewell—and walked out without looking back.
Xiao Heng followed her silhouette until it vanished, then slowly lifted his teacup. The tea was cold. But to him, it tasted just right.
When the hall had emptied, the Crown Prince finally spoke. “Cousin, what do you think of Shen Jinshu?”
Xiao Heng set down his cup. “Your Highness has already asked me once.”
“I want to hear it again,” the Crown Prince said.
Xiao Heng was silent for a moment. “She’s not as the rumors say.”
“What kind?”
“Foolish.”
The Crown Prince chuckled. “Indeed. I used to find her tiresome. Today, though—she’s rather amusing.”
Xiao Heng glanced at him. His gaze was calm, but the prince sensed something beneath it.
“Cousin,” the Crown Prince asked suddenly, “don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to her?”
Xiao Heng’s hand on the teacup didn’t tremble; his expression didn’t change. But his reply carried weight. “Your Highness,” he said, setting the cup down, “whether I like her or not doesn’t matter. What matters is—she no longer likes you.”
The Crown Prince’s smile faded. He looked at Xiao Heng, who looked back. The air between them grew taut. “You’re right,” the crown prince said at last, lifting his cold tea. “She doesn’t like me anymore. That is…a good thing.”
“For everyone,” Xiao Heng replied, rising. “Your Highness, I take my leave.”
The Crown Prince nodded.
Xiao Heng departed.
Liufang Pavilion was left with only the crown prince, and a table of cold leftovers. He sat in the empty hall, staring toward the doorway, silent for a long time.
*She doesn’t like me anymore.* It was what he had always wanted. So why, now that it was true, did it feel…bitter?
He raised the cold tea and drank. It was bitter. Very bitter.
In the carriage back to the general’s manor, Shen Jin exhaled deeply.
“Miss,” Chun Tao asked cautiously, “won’t what you said today offend people?”
“Offend who?”
“Miss Lin. You said she’s seventeen and still unbetrothed. She must hate you for that.”
“Let her hate.” Shen Jin leaned against the wall. “She already hated me. A little more makes no difference.”
Chun Tao thought it over. True enough.
“And His Highness? You were so cold to him. Won’t he be displeased?”
“Whether he’s pleased or not—what’s it to me? I’m not marrying him.” Shen Jin closed her eyes.
Chun Tao opened her mouth, then shut it again. She couldn’t help noticing: today, Shen Jin’s gaze toward the Crown Prince was utterly different. Once, it had been eager, expectant. Today, it was calm—almost impatient, as if he were no different from Lin Wanqing or Wang Caiwei. No—less important than osmanthus candy. Her mistress had truly let go. Completely, cleanly.
Chun Tao didn’t know whether to rejoice or worry. Rejoice, because Shen Jin no longer tormented herself over the prince. Worry, because she seemed uninterested in anyone at all. Except one. Heir Xiao. Her attitude toward him was different. Not the difference of affection—but something harder to name.
Chun Tao shook her head. Best not to dwell. As long as her mistress was happy.
Shen Jin sat with eyes closed, replaying the banquet in her mind.
Lin Wanqing’s barbs—deflected. The red bean trap—avoided. The Crown Prince’s stance—understood.
Everything had gone according to plan.
Everything, except Xiao Heng.
Why had he appeared at the spring banquet? That wasn’t in the original story.
What did his words mean? What did that look mean, when he asked for candy? And that gaze—like he wanted to see through her, or into her eyes and never let go.
Shen Jin opened her eyes, staring at the carriage roof, and cursed inwardly. Xiao Heng, what on earth are you playing at?