The carriage stopped at the rear gate of the General’s Manor.
As soon as Shen Jin stepped down, she saw someone who shouldn’t have been there—Shen Mingzhu. Her younger half-sister stood beneath the locust tree by the gate, dressed in a pale pink jacket, a round fan in hand, looking very much as though she had been waiting.
The moment she spotted Shen Jin, Shen Mingzhu’s eyes lit up.
“Elder Sister, you’re back!” She ran forward, looping her arm through Shen Jin’s. “Mingzhu has been waiting for you for so long!”
Shen Jin glanced at the hand clinging to her arm. In the past, Shen Mingzhu often held her this way, but then it was a gesture of affection tinged with calculation. Today felt different. Today, the gesture carried a trace of genuine sincerity.
Shen Jin turned the thought over in her mind but couldn’t quite puzzle out the reason. “What are you doing here waiting for me?” she asked.
“Of course I’m waiting for you,” Shen Mingzhu replied with a bright smile. “You went to His Highness the Crown Prince’s spring banquet, and Mingzhu was terribly worried at home. Afraid you’d be bullied, afraid you’d be unhappy. So I came here to wait, wanting to be the first to see you return.”
Worried? Shen Jin gave her a look. In the past, whenever Shen Mingzhu claimed to be ‘worried,’ it usually meant she was secretly gloating. But today, the light in Shen Mingzhu’s eyes was different. Not the gleam of someone waiting to watch a spectacle, but something closer to… genuine concern?
Shen Jin was a little taken aback. “I’m fine,” she said. “The banquet was pleasant enough.”
“Really?” Shen Mingzhu studied her. “Elder Sister, you dressed so plainly today—no one made snide remarks, did they?”
“A few words, nothing that mattered.”
“That’s good.” Shen Mingzhu let out a breath of relief. “Sister, I’ve had refreshments prepared in Jinse Pavilion. Shall we go back and eat while we talk?”
Shen Jin looked at her, then suddenly smiled. “Mingzhu, what’s gotten into you today?”
“What do you mean?”
“In the past, you never cared whether I enjoyed a banquet. You only cared whether I made a fool of myself.”
Shen Mingzhu’s smile faltered, then slowly faded. She lowered her head, silent for a moment. “Elder Sister,” she said softly, “Mingzhu was foolish before. I won’t be like that anymore.”
Shen Jin gazed at the crown of her bowed head, saying nothing. She couldn’t be sure whether Shen Mingzhu’s words were true.
In the original story, Shen Mingzhu was always the delicate white-flower villain—sweet and obedient on the surface, scheming in secret. But that was the original story.
Now that Shen Jin had arrived, the plot was already shifting. Even the Crown Prince’s attitude toward her had changed. Xiao Heng’s attitude toward her had shifted. Even Shen Mingzhu’s attitude might be changing.
“Let’s go,” Shen Jin said as she stepped into the manor. “We’ll talk inside.”
Shen Mingzhu blinked, then quickly followed, her smile returning to her face.
Chun Tao trailed behind, watching the Second Miss cling to the Eldest Miss’s arm. Something about it felt off—but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. Well, the Eldest Miss surely knew her own mind.
In the main hall, Madam Zhou was speaking with Shen Zhao.
“You’re saying Jinshu hasn’t been herself lately?” Madam Zhou held a teacup, her tone casual.
“Not just ‘not herself.’” Shen Zhao set down his folding fan. “She’s completely changed.”
“In what way?”
“Her manner of speaking, the way she acts, even the look in her eyes. Before, she looked at everyone as if to say, ‘None of you are worthy.’ Now she looks at people as if to say, ‘Care as you please.’” He frowned.
Madam Zhou thought for a moment. “Isn’t that better? No more troublemaking, no more fuss—much easier to manage.”
“Mother,” Shen Zhao lowered his voice, “don’t you find it strange? How can a person change so completely overnight?”
Madam Zhou’s hand paused on the teacup.
“You mean…”
“I can’t say for sure.” Shen Zhao shook his head. “But I think it should be investigated.”
Madam Zhou set the cup down, silent for a while. “Investigate, then,” she said at last. “But don’t startle the snake. Your father’s been treating her better lately. If he learns you’re prying into her, he won’t be pleased.”
“I understand.”
Madam Zhou gazed out at the peach blossoms, thoughtful.
Shen Jinshu had indeed changed. Before, whenever she came to pay respects, her face was tight with grievance. Now she no longer came at all, nor did she wear that strained look. She greeted everyone with a smile. The change was so good it was unsettling. Because it didn’t feel real. No one becomes that agreeable without reason. Unless— She was biding her time for something bigger.
Madam Zhou lifted her cup, then set it down again.
“Zhao’er,” she said, “keep eyes on Jinse Pavilion. Whoever she meets, whatever she does—record it all.”
“It’s already arranged.” Shen Zhao rose. “Mother, rest assured.”
After he left, Madam Zhou sat alone in the hall, fingers tapping lightly on the table.
Shen Jinshu. What scheme are you plotting?
At Jinse Pavilion, Shen Jin reclined on the couch by the window, sampling the refreshments Shen Mingzhu had brought.
The tea was Biluochun; the pastries were osmanthus cake, mung bean cake, and sesame candy. The osmanthus cake was perfectly sweet—not cloying like the batch Shen Mingzhu had once made herself.
“Elder Sister,” Shen Mingzhu leaned on her hands across the table, “who was at the spring banquet?”
“Many people.” Shen Jin took a bite of cake. “Lin Wanqing, Wang Caiwei, Li Nian, and others whose names I don’t recall.”
“Did Lin Wanqing try to bully you?”
“She tried, but didn’t succeed.”
Shen Mingzhu’s eyes lit up. “How did you fight back?”
Shen Jin gave her a look. “And how do you know I would fight back?”
“Because Elder Sister isn’t someone who suffers losses,” Shen Mingzhu said matter-of-factly.
Shen Jin smiled and gave a brief account of what had happened at the spring banquet.
When she mentioned cracking melon seeds, nibbling sweets, and asking Lin Wanqing, “Seventeen already and still not betrothed?” Shen Mingzhu burst into laughter, nearly doubling over.
“Elder Sister, you’re incredible!” Shen Mingzhu clapped her hands. “Lin Wanqing hates it when people bring up her age—you stabbed her right in the heart with that one!”
“She offered herself up,” Shen Jin replied, lifting her teacup. “Not my fault.”
“And His Highness the Crown Prince?” Shen Mingzhu leaned closer. “Did he look at you differently?”
Shen Jin set down her cup. “Differently? I’d rather he didn’t look at me at all.”
Shen Mingzhu blinked, then laughed.
“Elder Sister truly doesn’t like His Highness anymore?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“Not at all.”
Shen Mingzhu studied her, her gaze complicated.
“Elder Sister,” she whispered, “do you know what people say about you outside?”
“What do they say?”
“They call you the capital’s number-one drama queen. They say you don’t know your place. They say you’re unworthy of the Crown Prince.”
Shen Jin smiled. “Sounds about right.”
Shen Mingzhu froze. “You’re not angry?”
“Why should I be?” Shen Jin picked up a piece of mung bean cake. “It’s not as if they’re lying. I *was* dramatic, I *was* overreaching, and I *was* unworthy of the Crown Prince. But now—” She bit into the cake, chewed, and swallowed. “Now I’m no longer dramatic, and I don’t like the Crown Prince. They can say whatever they please—it has nothing to do with me.”
Shen Mingzhu stared at her, silent for a long time. Suddenly, she felt her sister was both familiar and unfamiliar. Unfamiliar in the way she spoke and acted. Familiar in the expression on her face—an ease and freedom that seemed to radiate from her very bones.
Shen Mingzhu had never seen such an expression on Shen Jinshu before. In the past, her face was always marked by anxiety, resentment, and anger. Now, her face carried only four words: *Let them be.*
Shen Mingzhu didn’t know whether to envy her or resent her.
“Elder Sister,” she said softly, “may I… come chat with you often?”
Shen Jin glanced at her. “Come if you like,” she said. “Just don’t come early in the morning—I need my sleep.”
Shen Mingzhu laughed, delighted.
“All right, Mingzhu will remember.”
By evening, Shen Jin told Chun Tao to send word to the kitchen: supper would be taken in Jinse Pavilion; no need to deliver it.
Chun Tao was puzzled. “But, Miss… if they don’t send it, what will you eat?”
“I’ll cook myself.”
“Again?” Chun Tao’s eyes widened. “Miss, didn’t you just cook earlier today?”
“Why not cook again?” Shen Jin rolled up her sleeves. “Today I learned something important.”
“What’s that?”
“The Crown Prince’s cooks aren’t even as good as me. So I need to strike while the iron is hot and hone my skills.”
Chun Tao: “…”
Miss, why are you competing with the Crown Prince’s chefs? They’re professionals; you’re the young lady of the house!
But Chun Tao had already learned one truth—when her mistress wanted to do something, no one could stop her. So she obediently went to the kitchen to pass on the message.
Shen Jin busied herself in the small kitchen of Jinse Pavilion. It was a tiny space, once used for simmering bird’s nest porridge, with only a single stove—but it was enough. She looked over the ingredients: eggs, scallions, leftover rice from lunch, a small piece of pork, and a white radish. An idea sparked in her mind.
Fried rice with egg, plus radish soup. Simple, quick, delicious.
She sliced the radish into thin strips and simmered it with a little salt and ginger. Then she started on the fried rice: beat the eggs, chop the scallions, dice the pork. Heat the wok, add oil, scramble the eggs and set it aside. Add more oil, sauté scallions and pork until fragrant, toss in the rice, stir-fry, return the eggs, season with salt, and serve. The whole process took less than fifteen minutes.
Shen Jin ladled the fried rice into a bowl and another bowl of radish soup.
The soup was clear, the radish soft, with scallion floating on top.
Chun Tao watched, mouth watering. “Miss, this smells amazing.”
“Egg fried rice. You’ve never had it, have you?”
“Never.” Chun Tao shook her head. “I hadn’t even heard of it before.”
Shen Jin smiled. In modern times, fried rice was everyday fare. In the ancient world, it was rare—most people steamed, boiled, or stewed their food. Stir-frying, especially fried rice, wasn’t common in ordinary households.
“Try it.” Shen Jin pushed the bowl toward her.
Chun Tao picked up her chopsticks, tasted a bite—and her eyes went round as coins. “Miss! This is even better than the soup rice you made this morning!”
“Then eat more.” Shen Jin lifted her own bowl and began to eat.
The grains were distinct, the egg and scallion fragrance mingled, and the pork added texture. The radish soup was light and refreshing, balancing the richness of the rice.
Shen Jin ate with deep satisfaction. This was the life she wanted— No need to please anyone, no need to live or die for someone who didn’t care for her. Cook when she wanted, sleep when she wanted. That was what living should be.
At Dingyuan residence, Xiao Heng sat in his study with a bowl of fried rice and radish soup before him. Steward Chen reported softly: “This evening, Miss Shen cooked this herself. According to our informants, she stir-fried leftover rice with egg and pork and paired it with radish soup.”
Xiao Heng looked at the bowl and picked up his chopsticks.
One bite. Chewed, paused, another bite. Then a third. A fourth.
Steward Chen twitched at the sight of his master eating without stopping.
“Master, is it… good?”
“Mm.” Xiao Heng was sparing with words.
The steward hesitated. “Should we have the kitchen learn it?”
“They can’t.” Xiao Heng set down his chopsticks. “It’s not about the recipe.”
“Then what is it?”
Xiao Heng didn’t answer. He lifted the radish soup instead. Plain, nothing special—yet soothing. Not dazzling in flavor, but comforting, as if the cook had poured her mood into it.
Staring at the empty bowl, Xiao Heng suddenly asked: “Steward Chen, why do you think she suddenly started cooking?”
Steward Chen thought. “Perhaps… she likes to eat?”
“No.” Xiao Heng shook his head. “She cooks with focus. Not for pleasure, but because… she’s finding herself a way out.”
“A way out?”
“A path to survive even if she leaves the General’s Manor.”
Steward Chen was stunned.
Xiao Heng leaned back, gazing at the moon outside. “She’s not the same Shen Jinshu anymore. The old Shen Jinshu only clung to others—the General’s Manor, the Crown Prince. The Shen Jinshu now is learning to stand on her own.”
The steward didn’t understand his master’s words, but he noticed one thing—when the Heir spoke of Miss Shen, his eyes were different.
Usually calm, calculating, commanding. But when speaking of her, there was a softness he had never seen before. Not the sharpness of a hunter’s gaze, but something else—tenderness.
Steward Chen lowered his head, pretending he hadn’t noticed. Some things were better left unspoken.
Late at night, Shen Jin lay awake, replaying the day’s Spring Banquet in her mind. Not savoring, but analyzing—checking for flaws, for missteps.
So far, everything was under control. Her attitude toward the Crown Prince was clear—no longer interested, no longer entangled. Everyone had seen it—Shen Jinshu had changed, no longer the spoiled troublemaker.
Now she had to maintain this persona. Low-key, not provoking—but not afraid either. If challenged, she’d push back; if she couldn’t, she’d play dumb; if that failed, she’d simply let go.
As she thought, another question arose. Why had Xiao Heng appeared at the Spring Banquet today? In the original story, that scene didn’t exist. His role was mostly tied to court and war, rarely intersecting with women’s gatherings. He came to the Spring Banquet for only one reason.
Because of her.
Shen Jin’s heart sped up at the thought. No, no—she was being self‑indulgent again.
Xiao Heng might truly have “changed his mind at the last minute.” It might have nothing to do with her. And even if it did, it wasn’t because he liked her. Maybe it was just curiosity—because of the words she’d spoken that morning in Tianshui Lane. Curiosity, nothing more. Not affection.
She gave herself a stern pep talk, rolled over, and forced herself to sleep. But what she didn’t know was that, under the same moon that night, Xiao Heng lay awake with the same question in his mind.
Why had she suddenly started cooking? Who was she cooking for? Just herself—or… someone else?
At that thought, his brow furrowed. He realized he disliked that possibility. Very much disliked it.
Xiao Heng turned over and pulled the quilt over his head. Sleep. Tomorrow held serious business. Yet when he closed his eyes, what rose in his mind was not tomorrow’s affairs but a bowl of fried rice. Golden, each grain distinct, fragrant with scallion and egg. And the person holding the bowl— Rice clinging to the corner of her lips, cheeks puffed, eyes curved in delight, eating with pure satisfaction.
Xiao Heng opened his eyes again, staring at the canopy in the dark, and let out a silent sigh. I’m doomed, he thought.