Early the next morning, Shen Jin was still half-asleep when a chorus of meows jolted her awake. It wasn’t the rough cry of a stray in the courtyard, but the plaintive, almost babyish sound of a kitten trapped in a cage—soft, insistent, and heartbreakingly sweet.
Shen Jin poked her head out from under the quilt. “Chun Tao, where did that cat come from?”
Chun Tao rushed in, clutching a fluffy bundle, her face looking as if she’d seen a ghost. “Miss! Someone sent it over!”
“Who?”
Chun Tao handed her a slip of paper. On it was a single line: “Yesterday at the Spring Banquet I noticed you like sweets. I thought you might also like sweet things. This cat is very sweet—so I’m giving it to you.” Signed: Heng.
Shen Jin stared at the note for five seconds, then crumpled it into a ball. “Is he out of his mind?”
“Miss… you mean Heir Xiao?” Chun Tao asked cautiously.
“Who else could it be?” Shen Jin snatched the kitten from her maid’s arms and held it up for inspection. It was a tiny orange tabby, two or three months old, with a round face, round eyes, pale ginger fur, and a patch of white on its belly. Dangling in the air, the little creature kicked its legs and let out a soft “meow.”
Shen Jin’s heart was struck like an arrow. So cute. Painfully cute. But she couldn’t let it show. If she accepted Xiao Heng’s cat, what was next—accepting Xiao Heng himself? No, she already had, once.
She set the kitten down and forced her voice flat. “Send it back.”
Chun Tao blinked. “Send it back?”
“Yes. I don’t want it.”
“But Heir Xiao’s men already left.”
Shen Jin fell silent. She looked down at the kitten in her arms. As if sensing her hesitation, the little thing tilted its head, nudged her chin, and mewed again.
Shen Jin drew a deep breath. “…Fine. We’ll keep it for now. I’ll return it another day.”
Chun Tao stifled a laugh, murmured “Yes, Miss,” and went off to prepare a cat bed.
Shen Jin sat on the bed with the kitten, the two of them staring at each other. “Is your master insane?” she asked.
The kitten tilted its head.
“Does he think giving me a cat will move me?”
The kitten licked its paw.
“I’m telling you, I won’t be moved.”
The kitten yawned.
“I’m only taking you in because you’re pitiful. When I have time, I’ll send you back.”
The kitten burrowed into her arms and purred.
Shen Jin was silent. All right. The cat really was sweet. But she would not change her opinion of Xiao Heng. Never. Absolutely never.
At breakfast, Shen Mingzhu arrived. The moment she saw the orange kitten in Shen Jin’s arms, her eyes lit up. “Sister! Where did you get that cat? It’s adorable!” She reached out to pet it.
Shen Jin shielded the kitten. “Don’t touch. It’s shy.”
Shen Mingzhu froze mid-reach, looking wounded. “When did you start keeping a cat? Why didn’t I know?”
“Someone gave it to me.”
“Who?”
Shen Jin lied without blinking. “A friend.”
Shen Mingzhu glanced from the kitten to her sister, a spark of suspicion flickering in her eyes.
“Sister,” Shen Mingzhu leaned closer, “this ‘friend’—isn’t his surname Xiao?”
Shen Jin was sipping her porridge and nearly choked. “How did you know?”
“Just a guess.” Shen Mingzhu grinned. “I know all of Sister’s friends. For someone to give you a gift and for you to actually accept it—it can’t be an ordinary friend. And lately you’ve been close to Heir Xiao… so it must be him.”
Shen Jin set down her bowl and studied her half-sister. This girl’s powers of observation were sharper than she’d expected.
“It was him,” Shen Jin admitted. “But I plan to return it.”
“Return it? Why?” Shen Mingzhu looked genuinely puzzled. “Why give back something from Heir Xiao? Half the maidens in the capital would kill for a gift from him.”
“Because I don’t want to be entangled with him.”
Shen Mingzhu froze, then smiled. “Sister, the more you try to avoid entanglement, the messier it gets. Refuse him once, he’ll try again. Decline one gift, he’ll send another. Better to accept it—just treat him as an ordinary friend.”
Shen Jin raised an eyebrow. “When did you become so… perceptive?”
Shen Mingzhu only smiled, offering no answer. She lifted her teacup, lowered her gaze, and hid the flicker of complexity in her eyes. Her sister didn’t know—the reason she seemed “perceptive” now was because she owed her. In the past, she had wronged Shen Jin countless times: tattling to their father, handing knives to their stepmother, spreading rumors outside. She thought it would ruin her sister, strip away their father’s favor, leave her humiliated in the household.
But Shen Jin had changed. She no longer cared—about their father’s affection, their stepmother’s opinion, or the gossip beyond the gates.
All Shen Mingzhu’s schemes had landed on cotton, useless. And Shen Jin treated her with a cool distance: neither warm nor hostile, neither trusting nor punishing. As if she were placed inside a transparent box—visible, but untouchable. That feeling was worse than scolding.
Shen Mingzhu set down her cup, looked at the orange kitten nestled in Shen Jin’s arms, and whispered, “Sister, this cat is very cute. Keep it.”
Shen Jin studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. We’ll keep it.”
The kitten rolled over, exposing its snowy belly, sprawled in blissful sleep—completely unaware it had just been the subject of a silent tug-of-war.
By afternoon, an uninvited guest arrived at the General’s Manor.
Su Qingyin, daughter of Marquis Yongning. The heroine of the original tale. The darling of the Crown Prince.
When Chun Tao rushed in to announce, “Miss Su is here,” Shen Jin was busy trying to name the kitten.
“‘Mimi’? Too tacky.”
“‘Little Orange’? Too casual.”
“‘Egg Yolk’? Doesn’t sound right either.”
“Miss!” Chun Tao stamped her foot in frustration. “Miss Su is still waiting in the front hall!”
“Let her wait.” Shen Jin kept her eyes on the kitten. “I haven’t finished naming it yet.”
Chun Tao was speechless.
Miss, that’s *Su Qingyin*! The legitimate daughter of Marquis Yongning! The most famous talent in the capital! The Crown Prince’s beloved! And you’re making her wait… just because you’re naming a cat?
But Chun Tao had long since learned not to argue with her mistress. She went to the front hall to deliver the message.
Su Qingyin sat there, calmly sipping tea. She wore a pale moon-white jacket, her hair adorned with nothing but a single jade hairpin. No extra ornaments, yet she drew every eye.
When someone is beautiful enough, anything they wear looks exquisite. That was the sight Shen Jin walked in on—a beauty framed by the window, sunlight spilling across her profile, like a painting come to life.
Shen Jin thought to herself: *No wonder she’s the heroine of the original story. That face, that aura—truly formidable.*
“Sister Su,” Shen Jin greeted, taking a seat opposite her. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Su Qingyin set down her cup and smiled. “It’s fine. I heard you were busy naming a cat?”
Shen Jin blinked. “How did you know?”
“Your maid told me.”
Behind them, Chun Tao shrank her neck.
Shen Jin shot her a glare, then turned back with a smile. “Yes. Someone gave me a cat, and I haven’t decided on a name yet.”
“What kind of cat?”
“An orange tabby. Quite chubby.”
Su Qingyin thought for a moment. “Call it *Juju*?”
“Too plain.”
“Tuan Tuan?”
“Better, but not special enough.”
Su Qingyin tried again. “Yuanbao?”
Shen Jin’s eyes lit up. “Yuanbao? Perfect. Sounds prosperous. All right, Yuanbao it is.”
Su Qingyin laughed. Shen Jin laughed too. Their shared smile eased the air between them.
“So, Sister Su, what brings you here today?” Shen Jin asked.
Su Qingyin lifted her cup, blowing gently across the surface. “Nothing urgent. I just heard you caused quite a stir at the Spring Banquet yesterday. I wanted to see for myself if the rumors were true.”
“A stir?” Shen Jin chuckled. “More like a disgrace.”
“No.” Su Qingyin’s gaze was steady. “What I heard was this: the General’s eldest daughter sat in the Eastern Palace cracking melon seeds, eating sweets, sparring with Lin Wanqing—leaving everyone stunned. And at the end, you finished a bowl of red bean soup, clean to the last drop, and told the Crown Prince, ‘The food was delicious, the flowers are lovely, today was delightful.’”
Shen Jin: “…Where did you hear that?”
“Everywhere. The capital isn’t that big—news spreads fast. Right now, you’re the hottest topic in town. Hotter than the Crown Prince’s marriage prospects.”
Shen Jin pressed her forehead. She only wanted to keep a low profile—so why was she becoming more high-profile by the day?
“Sister Su,” she asked, “tell me honestly. What are people saying about me?”
Su Qingyin considered. “There are two camps. Some say you’ve gone mad. Others say you’ve… awakened.”
“Awakened?”
“Yes. As in, you’ve suddenly seen through it all—no more tantrums, no more drama. You’ve decided to live well. I think you’re the second kind.”
Shen Jin was quiet for a moment, then smiled. “Sister Su, you have excellent judgment.”
Su Qingyin smiled back. Their eyes met again, this time with a hint of mutual understanding.
“Sister Shen,” Su Qingyin said suddenly, “did you know? I used to dislike you.”
Shen Jin nodded. “I know.”
“But yesterday, at the banquet, you made me see you differently.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not praising you,” Su Qingyin said seriously. “I’m stating a fact—you’ve changed. Changed enough that I think… we could be friends.”
Shen Jin looked at her for a long time. In the original story, Su Qingyin and Shen Jinshu were mortal enemies. One the heroine, the other the cannon-fodder rival—destined never to coexist. But now, Su Qingyin had come to her, offering friendship. This meant the plot had already veered far off course.
“Alright,” Shen Jin extended her hand, “from today on, we’re friends.”
Su Qingyin blinked at the gesture. She didn’t quite understand it.
Shen Jin realized—women in this era didn’t shake hands. She was about to withdraw when Su Qingyin suddenly clasped her hand.
“I don’t know what this means,” Su Qingyin said with a smile, “but it feels nice.”
Shen Jin smiled back. Their hands rested together, sunlight streaming through the window, warm against their skin.
Behind them, Chun Tao’s nose stung. At last, her mistress had a friend—a real friend—not someone currying favor with her status, but someone who genuinely liked her.
Chun Tao quietly wiped her eyes, pretending she hadn’t seen a thing.
After Su Qingyin left, Shen Jin sat by the window with Yuanbao in her arms, replaying their conversation. Su Qingyin had said she’d “changed”—changed enough to make people want to befriend her. That was good. It meant her choices were right. No more tantrums, no more drama—just living well.
But Shen Jin’s goal wasn’t merely “living well.” She wanted to stand firmly in this world, build her own livelihood, and be able to support herself. If the General’s Manor ever failed her, she needed a way out. She looked down at Yuanbao, who was busily licking his paw.
“Yuanbao,” she murmured, “what do you think of me opening a restaurant?”
The kitten glanced up and meowed.
“You think it’s a good idea too?”
Another meow.
“Alright then. Settled.”
Yuanbao yawned, hopped down, and crawled under the table to sleep.
Shen Jin chuckled. This cat was just like her—if it could lie down, it wouldn’t sit; if it could sleep, it wouldn’t eat.
No wonder it was Xiao Heng’s gift. Wait—why was she thinking of Xiao Heng again? She shook her head, banishing the name.
At Marquis Dingyuan’s estate, Xiao Heng was in his study, reviewing memorials.
Steward Chen stood nearby, holding a letter, hesitant.
“Speak,” Xiao Heng said without looking up.
“Master, Miss Shen… she accepted the cat.”
His brush paused, then continued. “Mm.”
“She even named it. Yuanbao.”
Xiao Heng set down his pen, lips curving faintly. “Yuanbao?”
“Yes. Apparently Miss Su suggested it, and Miss Shen liked it.”
Xiao Heng considered. “Yuanbao. Not bad. Sounds prosperous.”
Steward Chen hesitated again. “There’s more. Miss Shen and Miss Su talked for a long time. They seemed… quite in tune. When Miss Su left, Miss Shen saw her out, and they were laughing together.”
Xiao Heng frowned. Su Qingyin? Seeking Shen Jinshu out? Weren’t they sworn enemies before?
“What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know. Our spies didn’t dare get too close.”
Xiao Heng fell silent.
Su Qingyin was the Crown Prince’s favorite. Shen Jinshu had once favored the Crown Prince herself. What would those two discuss together? The Crown Prince? Or something else?
Xiao Heng realized he disliked the idea of Shen Jinshu and Su Qingyin becoming friends — not because of Su Qingyin herself, but because of the Crown Prince behind her. And yesterday, at the Spring Banquet, Xiao Heng had seen the way the Crown Prince looked at Shen Jinshu. It wasn’t disdain. It wasn’t impatience. It was curiosity. And curiosity in a man toward a woman was often the beginning of desire.
Xiao Heng leaned back, fingers tapping the armrest. “Steward Chen.”
“Yes.”
“Find out why Su Qingyin suddenly sought Shen Jinshu.”
“Yes.”
Steward Chen turned to leave, but Xiao Heng called him back. “And tighten surveillance. Whoever Miss Shen meets, whatever she says—I want to know.”
“Yes.” Steward Chen departed.
Xiao Heng sat alone, staring at the memorials spread across his desk, unable to read a word. He thought of Shen Jinshu yesterday—plainly dressed, sitting in the corner cracking melon seeds, smiling at everyone but him. When he asked for candy, she gave it to him, but her eyes were cold. As if to say: *I’ll give you sugar, but don’t expect warmth.*
The thought left him strangely stifled. He had given her a cat. She had accepted it. But he knew—she had accepted the cat, not him. She liked the cat, not him.
Xiao Heng rose, walked to the window, and looked at the old locust tree in the courtyard. “Shen Jinshu,” he whispered, “what will it take for you to smile at me?”
The wind rustled the leaves, sounding like an answer—or a mockery.
He shut the window, returned to his desk, and picked up his brush. No use. The words blurred into three characters: Shen Jinshu. He closed the memorial and tossed it aside.
No use reading. No use writing.
He lay down, but even in bed, her name filled his mind.
What color had she worn today?
What had she eaten?
How many times had she laughed with Su Qingyin?
What expression did she wear when holding Yuanbao?
He turned over, burying his face in the pillow. For the first time in twenty-two years, he felt like a fool. Not just any fool—a fool trapped by feelings. And he hadn’t even touched the edge of “feelings” yet, but already he was ensnared.
If this truly became love, how much worse would it be? He dared not imagine. He forced his eyes shut, willing himself to sleep. But in his dreams, Shen Jinshu appeared again. She was in the kitchen, apron tied, spatula in hand, frying golden egg fried rice. She turned, smiling sweetly—sweeter than osmanthus candy. And she said: “Xiao Heng, come here. I’ll teach you to cook.”
In the dream, he walked toward her. Then he woke.
Dawn had not yet broken.
Xiao Heng lay still, staring at the canopy. After a long while, he closed his eyes, trying to return to the dream, but he couldn’t. All he could hold onto was that smile. And those words: Come here.
He covered his eyes with his hand and sighed silently. Shen Jinshu, do you know? Even in dreams, you treat me better than in reality.