When Shen Jin received the four words “Can I join for a meal?”, she was busy brushing Yuanbao’s fur.
Yuanbao had been shedding badly lately—each stroke of the brush produced a handful of fluff that drifted in the sunlight like falling snow.
When Chun Tao came in holding the envelope, she looked utterly defeated. “Miss, another letter from Heir Xiao.”
Shen Jin took the envelope and tore it open. “Can I join for a meal?” She stared at those four words for three seconds, then burst out laughing. This time she wasn’t crouched on the floor laughing, but sprawled across the desk, laughing so hard that Yuanbao leaped off her lap with a look of disdain.
“Miss, what are you laughing at again?” Chun Tao had grown used to her mistress’s sudden fits of laughter lately, but still couldn’t help asking.
Shen Jin held up the letter for her to see.
Chun Tao glanced at it, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “Heir Xiao wants to come for a meal?”
“Mm.”
“Will you agree?”
Shen Jin set the letter down and thought for a moment.
Xiao Heng wanted to come for a meal. The heir of Marquis Dingyuan, the emperor’s nephew, the most handsome man in the capital—wanted to eat her cooking. If word got out, her name would be trending on the capital’s “hot search” list for days. Then again, she hadn’t really been off that list lately anyway.
“I’ll agree,” Shen Jin said. “But he has to bring his own ingredients.”
Chun Tao: “…Miss, you’re asking Heir Xiao to bring his own food?”
“What’s wrong with that? If you don’t bring ingredients, that’s not bumming a meal—that’s just mooching.”
Chun Tao felt her mistress made sense, but something still seemed off.
Heir Xiao was coming to bum a meal, bringing his own ingredients—the image was strange no matter how she pictured it. Still, she wrote the reply on the back of the letter as instructed: “All right. Bring your own ingredients.” Then she sent it back to Marquis’s residence through the hidden courier.
Xiao Heng received the reply while playing chess with the Crown Prince.
For some reason, Crown Prince Xiao Yu had been visiting the Marquis’s estate every few days, claiming he wanted to “play chess with his cousin.” Xiao Heng suspected he had other motives. Sure enough, halfway through their third game today, the Crown Prince suddenly asked: “Cousin, what do you think of Shen Jinshu?”
Xiao Heng’s hand paused mid-move. That question again. He’d asked it at the Spring Banquet, and now he was asking again.
“Your Highness seems very interested in Miss Shen?” Xiao Heng said evenly.
The Crown Prince smiled. “Not interested, exactly. Just… she’s changed a lot lately. She’s like a different person.”
“People do change.”
“But not so suddenly,” the Crown Prince countered, placing a stone. “Unless something unusual happened.”
Xiao Heng said nothing.
The Crown Prince studied him for a few seconds, then smiled. “Fine. If you won’t say, I won’t ask.” He rose. “I’ll return to the palace. You carry on.”
After the Crown Prince left, Xiao Heng finally opened the letter. “All right. Bring your own ingredients.”
Xiao Heng looked at those six words, and the corners of his mouth curved upward. *Bring your own ingredients.* She really wasn’t being polite. But that was fine. If he brought the ingredients himself, he could choose what he liked to eat.
“Steward Chen.”
Steward Chen pushed the door open.
“Go prepare the ingredients. Tomorrow I’m going to Tianshui Lane.”
Steward Chen froze. “Heir, under what identity will you go?”
“A guest.”
“…Does Miss Shen know?”
“She knows. She agreed.”
Steward Chen drew in a deep breath. The heir was going to Miss Shen’s residence to eat the food she cooked. The two of them, alone together. Even with a maid present, it was still just the two of them alone together. If word got out—
“Heir,” Steward Chen said cautiously, “should we bring a few guards?”
“No need.”
“But if someone sees—”
“Then let them see.” Xiao Heng’s tone was calm. “I, Xiao Heng, walk upright and sit straight. It’s just a meal. What’s there to fear?”
Steward Chen thought: *Fear? You’re practically hoping to be seen.* But he didn’t dare say it aloud. He only withdrew quietly to prepare the ingredients.
The next morning, Shen Jin was still asleep when Chun Tao came shaking her.
“Miss! Miss! Heir Xiao is here!”
Shen Jin blinked groggily. “What time is it?”
“Just past the hour of Chen!”
The hour of Chen—around seven in the morning.
Shen Jin rolled her eyes. She’d stayed up half the night reading miscellanies, planning to sleep in today. And now Xiao Heng had shown up at the crack of dawn. Was he doing this on purpose? She dragged herself up, washed quickly, threw on a robe, twisted her hair up with a single hairpin, and went out barefaced.
Chun Tao fretted behind her. “Miss, aren’t you going to dress up a little?”
“Dress up for what? It’s not a blind date.”
Chun Tao thought: *This is more important than a blind date!*
Xiao Heng was standing at the gate of the Tianshui Lane residence, with two attendants behind him. Each carried two large food boxes.
When Shen Jin opened the door, this was the sight she saw—Xiao Heng in the morning light, dressed in a pale moon-white robe, a jade crown on his head, looking fresh and immaculate, as if he had stepped straight out of a painting.
And her? Barefaced, hair casually pinned, wearing a half-new jacket, and on her feet a pair of homemade cloth slippers stitched from old fabric.
The two of them standing together—the contrast was jarring.
“Miss Shen.” Xiao Heng inclined his head slightly, his gaze lingering on her face. “Didn’t sleep well?”
Shen Jin touched her dark circles. “You noticed?”
“Obvious.”
Shen Jin: “…” Couldn’t he be a little less blunt? “Come in.” She stepped aside to let him enter.
Xiao Heng led his attendants into the courtyard. They set the food boxes at the kitchen door and withdrew.
Chun Tao opened one box, then gasped. “Miss! Look!”
Shen Jin came over—and saw inside: A cleaned and dressed chicken, a lively perch swimming in a water jar, two pounds of pork ribs, a pound of pork belly, a basket of seasonal vegetables, a packet of dried scallops, a packet of dried shrimp, a jar of ten-year-old *Nü’erhong* wine, and a box of pastries—osmanthus cakes, mung bean cakes, sesame candy—all from the capital’s most famous shops.
Shen Jin looked over the pile of ingredients, then turned to Xiao Heng. “Heir, are you here to bum a meal or to open a restaurant?”
Xiao Heng’s expression didn’t change. “Didn’t you say to bring my own ingredients? I was afraid it wouldn’t be enough, so I brought extra.”
“This is enough to feed ten people.”
“Then we’ll eat more.”
Shen Jin drew a deep breath. Fine. He brought more, so he had the right.
“Chun Tao, light the fire.” Shen Jin rolled up her sleeves.
Xiao Heng stood at the kitchen door, watching her tie on an apron, roll up her sleeves, wash vegetables, and chop. Her movements weren’t exactly skilled, but they were earnest. When she chopped, her brows furrowed, lips pressed tight, as if she were wrestling with the vegetables themselves.
Xiao Heng thought the sight was more beautiful than any painting he had ever seen.
“Heir,” Shen Jin said without looking up, “why are you standing there? Come in and help.”
Xiao Heng froze. “Help?”
“Yes, help. You came to bum a meal, didn’t you? You can’t just freeload—you have to work.”
In his twenty-two years, no one had ever asked him to “help cook.” He was the heir of the Marquis’s house, the emperor’s nephew, the youngest minister at court. Cook? Yet somehow, he found himself stepping into the kitchen.
“What should I do?”
Shen Jin glanced at him and handed him a bunch of greens. “Wash these. Thoroughly. No dirt left.”
Xiao Heng took the greens, crouched by the basin, and began to wash.
Chun Tao nearly popped her eyes out watching.
Heir Xiao was washing vegetables. The capital’s most handsome man, heir of Marquis Dingyuan, is washing vegetables. Who would believe it? But it was happening.
Xiao Heng washed with great care, rinsing each leaf, then stacking them neatly in the basket.
Shen Jin glanced over and nodded in satisfaction. “Not bad. Cleaner than Chun Tao’s.”
Chun Tao: “…Miss, when did I ever wash them dirty?”
“Last time you left a caterpillar in the greens.”
“That was extra protein for you!”
Shen Jin shot her a look and went back to chopping.
Xiao Heng listened to their banter, the corners of his mouth curving slightly. This homely warmth—he had never felt it in the Marquis’s estate. There, the kitchen was for servants only. He never went. The dining hall was a place of ritual: no speaking at meals, every dish bound by rules, every bite dictated by etiquette. But here, it was different. No rules, no ceremony—just one person cooking earnestly, another waiting happily to eat. Correction: two people. One of them is washing vegetables.
Shen Jin planned several dishes today:
– Chicken soup with dried scallops and ham.
– Sweet-and-sour ribs (no ketchup, but sugar and vinegar would do).
– Steamed perch, fresh and delicate.
– Twice-cooked pork with garlic shoots and bean paste.
– Plus two vegetable dishes: stir-fried water spinach with garlic, and a medley of seasonal greens.
Xiao Heng washed the vegetables, then peeled the garlic—carefully, clove by clove —until they were clean and white in the dish.
Chun Tao whispered, “Miss, Heir Xiao seems quite happy here.”
Shen Jin glanced at him crouched in the sunlight, peeling garlic. The light gilded him in gold. His long lashes cast a fan-shaped shadow as he bent his head. The sight was worlds apart from the aloof, ascetic figure she had once seen in her dream. Her heart skipped a beat. She quickly turned away, chopping faster. Don’t look. Just cook. Stop staring at the handsome man.
An hour later, the dishes were ready.
The chicken soup was milky white, golden oil shimmering on top, with chicken, scallops, and ham beneath. The sweet-and-sour ribs gleamed red, their aroma filling the courtyard. The steamed perch lay tender and white, drizzled with soy and topped with scallions and peppers. The twice-cooked pork was rich and spicy, garlic shoots fragrant. The water spinach was bright green, the stir-fried vegetables crisp and refreshing.
Xiao Heng gazed at the table in silence.
“What’s wrong?” Shen Jin asked. “Doesn’t look good?”
“It looks good,” he said. “Too good.” He had eaten delicacies for twenty-two years, but never a meal that felt *beautiful*. Not because of the plating, but because every ingredient he’d brought had been used, every dish made with care.
“Try it.” Shen Jin ladled him a bowl of soup.
He took a sip. Fresh. Not the artificial kind, but the natural freshness of chicken, scallops, and ham layered together, warming him from tongue to stomach. He drank again. And again.
Shen Jin watched him, smiling. “Good?”
He set down the bowl, meeting her eyes. “Good.” The words were solemn, as if he meant more than just the soup.
Shen Jin looked away, flustered, and served herself a bowl. “Drink more if you like. The chicken’s yours anyway.”
Xiao Heng smiled—light but genuine, his eyes shining.
Chun Tao, eating in the corner, felt like an intruder. Should she leave? No, she had to stay, just in case. Though something had already happened. she shook her head and buried herself in her food. The dishes were too delicious to care.
After the meal, Chun Tao cleared the dishes, leaving Shen Jin and Xiao Heng alone in the courtyard. Sunlight filtered through the locust leaves, scattering gold across the ground.
Yuanbao appeared, leaped onto Xiao Heng’s lap, and curled up to sleep.
Xiao Heng stroked the cat’s head. “It’s fatter,” he said.
“You gave it to me fat.”
“No. It was only three months old then. In just a few days, it’s grown rounder.”
“That’s because your Marquis’s estate fed it well,” Shen Jin said. “Here, it eats much less.”
He looked at her. “Are you sure?”
She remembered Yuanbao’s daily meals—fish rice in the morning, dried fish at noon, goat’s milk at night.
“…Fine. It eats plenty.”
Xiao Heng chuckled, continuing to pet the cat. “Shen Jinshu,” he said suddenly, using her full name instead of “Miss Shen.”
Her heart skipped again. “What is it?”
“What will you do next?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your stepmother. Your mother. You can’t hide here cooking forever.”
Shen Jin was silent for a moment. “I know. That’s why I need a plan.”
“What plan?”
She met his eyes. “First, find out how my mother died. Then—make her pay.”
Xiao Heng looked at her. Gone was the playful, careless girl. In her place was a blade unsheathed—firm, resolute.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked.
“Help me investigate someone.”
“Who?”
“Steward Zhou. He’s served my father for thirty years. He must know what happened.”
Xiao Heng nodded. “I can.”
“And one more condition,” Shen Jin said.
“What condition?”
“If you help me with these things, how am I supposed to repay you?”
Xiao Heng looked at her—looked for a long time. The afternoon sunlight was quiet, the only sound in the courtyard the wind rustling through the locust leaves.
Yuanbao rolled over on his lap, exposing a soft white belly.
“No need to repay,” Xiao Heng said.
Shen Jin frowned. “I don’t like owing favors.”
“Then owe it.” Xiao Heng rose to his feet. Yuanbao slid off his lap, meowing in protest.
“When I think of what I want, I’ll tell you.”
Shen Jin watched his back, opened her mouth to speak, but in the end said nothing.
At the gate, Xiao Heng stopped, turned, and glanced at her. “I’ll come again tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll bring the ingredients.”
Shen Jin: “…”
“Bumming a meal—once is bumming, twice is bumming. Do it often enough, and it becomes a habit.”
With that, he left.
Shen Jin stood in the courtyard, staring at the gate closing behind him, dazed for a long while. Then she crouched down, scooped up Yuanbao, and buried her face in the cat’s belly. “Yuanbao,” her voice muffled, “is your master chasing me?”
Yuanbao squirmed under her, pawing at her face for air. “Meow—” You just realized?