On the day of the banquet.
Shen Jin woke up very early. Not because she was nervous, but because Yuanbao stepped on her face and woke her up.
“Yuanbao!” Shen Jin pulled the cat off her face. “Don’t you think it’s time you lost some weight?”
Yuanbao meowed once, jumped off the bed, and ran off to eat breakfast.
Shen Jin sat up, rubbing the red mark left on her cheek. Today was a big day. The letters she sent yesterday to Su Qingyin and Xiao Heng had both been answered. Su Qingyin’s reply was only one line: “I’ve prepared the refreshments and am waiting for you to perform.” Xiao Heng’s reply was even shorter: “Convenient.” Just two characters.
When Shen Jin read those two words, she couldn’t help but imagine Xiao Heng’s lips curved in a smile as he wrote them.
“Miss,” Chun Tao came in carrying water, “it’s time to wash and dress.”
Shen Jin washed her face, rinsed her mouth, and sat before the bronze mirror. Chun Tao combed her hair into a simple *Morning Clouds Near Fragrance* bun, pinned with a white magnolia hairpin, and placed pearl studs on her ears. Chun Tao chose her outfit—a pale green robe, embroidered with a few orchid branches at the hem. Elegant, but not plain.
“Miss, you look truly beautiful today,” Chun Tao said sincerely.
“When do I not look beautiful?”
Chun Tao thought for a moment. “Last time, when you opened the door in your nightclothes.”
“That was just after waking up! How can that count!”
Both of them laughed. After the laughter, Shen Jin took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
At the gate of the General’s Mansion, Madam Zhou and Shen Mingzhu were already waiting.
Madam Zhou wore a sapphire-blue robe, her hair adorned with a gold hairpiece dangling pearls—dressed to glitter, as if afraid no one would notice she was the general’s wife. Shen Mingzhu wore a goose-yellow robe with silk flowers in her hair, fresh and charming.
When Shen Jin appeared, Shen Mingzhu’s eyes lit up. “Sister, you look so beautiful today!”
Madam Zhou gave Shen Jin a quick once-over and smiled. “Jinshu is dressed more simply today, but it suits you. Come, the carriages are ready.”
Three carriages: one for Madam Zhou, one for Shen Jin and Shen Mingzhu, and one for the maids. Inside the carriage, once the curtain fell, Shen Mingzhu leaned close and whispered, “Sister, Madam brought quite a few people today.”
“How many?”
“Four maids, two old servants. And her personal attendant, Mama Zhao.”
Shen Jin understood immediately. Mama Zhao was Madam Zhou’s confidante, having followed her for twenty years—the one she trusted most. If Madam Zhou brought Mama Zhao, it meant she was planning something today.
“Sister,” Shen Mingzhu lowered her voice further, “I think Madam is up to something. Last night, she stayed shut in with Mama Zhao for a long time, talking. I don’t know what they were plotting.”
Shen Jin studied Shen Mingzhu. This younger half-sister had been passing her information lately. Was it genuine allegiance—or just an act?
Time would tell.
“I know.” Shen Jin patted her hand. “Don’t worry, I’m prepared.”
Shen Mingzhu nodded, though her worried expression didn’t fade.
The carriages arrived at Yongning’s residence. It was larger than the General’s Mansion and more refined than the Marquis Dingyuan’s. The garden held dozens of peony bushes—red, pink, white, purple—all in full bloom.
The banquet was set in the Peony Pavilion, with tables and chairs arranged around it, laden with tea and fruit. By the time Shen Jin arrived, many guests were already there.
Lin Wanqing was indeed present, dressed in a pomegranate-red robe, her hair pinned with a golden phoenix-tail ornament—like a flame.
Beside her stood Wang Caiwei in a peach-pink robe, delicate as a blossom. Several unfamiliar faces were also there, but judging by their attire, they were daughters of prominent families in the capital.
Su Qingyin stood at the pavilion entrance to greet guests, dressed in a moon-white robe with only a single jade hairpin—graceful and ethereal.
When she saw Shen Jin, she smiled. “Sister Shen, you’ve come.” She walked forward, taking Shen Jin’s hand. “Come, let me show you the peonies.”
The two walked inside, leaving the other young ladies exchanging puzzled looks. Since when were Su Qingyin and Shen Jinshu so close? Lin Wanqing’s expression was especially sour.
Su Qingyin led Shen Jin to a small courtyard behind the pavilion, closed the gate, and turned to face her. “Tell me—what play are you planning to stage?”
Shen Jin looked at her seriously. “Someone intends to harm me at your banquet.”
Su Qingyin’s smile faded. “Who?”
“My stepmother.”
Su Qingyin was silent for a moment. “How do you know?”
“Because she already tried at the Spring Banquet and failed. She won’t miss this chance.”
Su Qingyin looked at her, her gaze turning serious. “What do you want me to do?”
“Two things,” Shen Jin said. “First, help me keep an eye on someone—Mama Zhao, my stepmother’s personal attendant. She will definitely make a move today.”
“And the second?”
“Second, prepare a spare zither for me.”
Su Qingyin raised her brows. “A zither?”
“Yes. My stepmother insisted I use my mother’s zither today. That instrument must have been tampered with.”
Su Qingyin thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll arrange the zither. As for Mama Zhao, I’ll have my maids watch her.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Su Qingyin smiled. “You play your drama; I’ll be the audience. But—”
“But what?”
“Are you sure you can handle this alone? Don’t you need help?”
Shen Jin considered. “I already have one helper.”
“Who?”
“The heir of Marquis Dingyuan.”
Su Qingyin’s expression shifted subtly. “Xiao Heng? You and he…”
“A partnership,” Shen Jin said calmly. “Purely clean, purely innocent cooperation.”
Su Qingyin studied her face, then laughed. “Fine. An innocent partnership.”
The flower-viewing banquet officially began.
Su Qingyin’s mother, the Marchioness Yongning, said a few formal words, and then everyone dispersed—some to admire the flowers, some to chat, some to enjoy the refreshments.
Shen Jin found a quiet corner and took out the zither she had brought from the General’s Mansion.
Madam Zhou had deliberately ordered Mama Zhao to deliver the instrument to Yongning’s residence, saying it was “inconvenient for Jinshu to carry it herself.”
Shen Jin opened the case. A guqin lay inside. Its body was dark brown, lacquer smooth and glossy, the silk strings shimmering faintly with silver light.
Shen Jin didn’t truly understand the zither, but in the original body’s memory there were fragments of information about this instrument. It was Lady Shen’s zither, part of her dowry, said to be an antique from the previous dynasty—worth a fortune.
Shen Jin lightly plucked one string. The sound was pure and clear, beautiful. But her intuition told her something was wrong with this zither. She didn’t continue playing. Instead, she set the instrument aside and picked up some pastries to eat.
“Sister Shen,” Lin Wanqing’s voice came from behind, “you brought a zither? Are you going to play a piece?”
Shen Jin turned and saw Lin Wanqing and Wang Caiwei approaching.
“That was the plan,” Shen Jin replied.
“How wonderful,” Lin Wanqing smiled sweetly. “It’s been so long since I last heard you play. The last time was three years ago.”
Three years? Shen Jin searched the memories. Indeed, three years ago, the original Shen Jinshu had played at a banquet—badly. She was laughed at for a long time afterward. Since then, she had never performed in public again. Lin Wanqing’s mention of it was meant to expose her weakness.
“Then Sister Lin must listen carefully today,” Shen Jin smiled. “I’ve practiced a new piece recently.”
Lin Wanqing hadn’t expected her to be so composed and was momentarily stunned. “Then… I’ll look forward to it.” She left with Wang Caiwei.
Shen Jin watched her back, narrowing her eyes.
Lin Wanqing was very active today. Could she and Madam Zhou be working together? It was possible.
In the original story, Lin Wanqing and Madam Zhou had indeed cooperated. Both hated Shen Jinshu, so joining forces against her made perfect sense.
Su Qingyin came over and sat beside Shen Jin, speaking in a low voice. “Mama Zhao just went to the kitchen.”
“What for?”
“She said she was fetching bird’s nest porridge for Madam. But my people saw her speaking with a maid in the kitchen—someone I don’t recognize, not from the Marquis’s household.”
Shen Jin’s heart sank. That maid was likely someone Madam Zhou had brought in.
“What about the zither?” Shen Jin asked.
Su Qingyin glanced at the instrument beside her. “I had it checked. No problems.”
“No problems?”
“Yes. The tone is fine, the body intact, the strings sound.”
Shen Jin frowned. No problems? Then why had Madam Zhou insisted she use this zither? Was the trap not in the instrument? Or was it hidden elsewhere?
Su Qingyin stood. “I need to attend to the other guests. Be careful.”
“Mm.”
After she left, Shen Jin sat in the corner, mind racing. If the trap wasn’t in the zither, then where? With Mama Zhao? With Lin Wanqing? Or—
“Miss Shen.” A familiar voice came from above.
Shen Jin looked up. Xiao Heng stood before her, dressed in a dark robe, a white jade belt at his waist—elegant and distinguished. Behind him was a servant carrying a food box.
“Your Lordship,” Shen Jin lowered her voice, “how did you get in?”
“By walking in.”
“I mean, how did you get past the gate?”
“The Marquis Yongning’s gatekeepers don’t pose a problem for me.” Xiao Heng sat down beside her on a stone bench, setting the food box on the table. “I brought you some pastries.”
Shen Jin stared at the box, speechless. This was a flower-viewing banquet, not a picnic. Still, she opened it. Inside were osmanthus cakes, mung bean cakes, sesame candy, and a pot of tea. “Are you here to help me, or to eat?” she asked.
“Both.” Xiao Heng poured her a cup of tea. “Eat first, then I’ll help.”
Shen Jin lifted the cup and took a sip. It was *Biluochun* tea, the temperature just right—not too hot, not too cool. She had to admit, Xiao Heng was frighteningly attentive.
“My stepmother’s attendant, Mama Zhao, went to the kitchen,” Shen Jin whispered.
Xiao Heng’s expression didn’t change. “I know.”
“How?”
“I placed people in the Marquis’s household.” He lowered his voice. “Mama Zhao went for bird’s nest porridge. But she exchanged something with a maid there. That maid isn’t from this household.”
Shen Jin’s grip tightened on the teacup. “What did they exchange?”
“Unknown. My people didn’t see.”
Shen Jin set down the cup and rose. “I’ll go check the kitchen.”
“No need.” Xiao Heng caught her wrist. “I’ve already sent someone. If you go now, you’ll draw suspicion.”
Shen Jin looked down at his hand on her wrist. His hand was large, the bones distinct, warm. Suddenly, her heartbeat quickened. “Let go,” she said.
Xiao Heng released her.
“Thank you.” Shen Jin sat back down, lifting the cup again to hide her unease.
Xiao Heng watched her profile, lips curving faintly. “Shen Jinshu,” he said, “when you’re nervous, you keep drinking tea.”
Her hand paused. “I’m not nervous.”
“You’ve already had two cups.”
She glanced down at her cup. Indeed, it was her second. She set it aside and drew a deep breath. “Your Lordship,” she asked, “if I lose today, what will you do?”
Xiao Heng looked at her, serious. “You won’t lose.”
“What if?”
“There is no ‘what if.’” His voice was soft but firm. “Because I’m here.”
Shen Jin gazed at him for a long time.
She wanted to say, You don’t need to be so good to me.
She wanted to say, We’re not close.
She wanted to say, I don’t need your protection.
But she said nothing. Because she knew—whatever she said, Xiao Heng wouldn’t listen. This man never changed his mind once he decided. Just as he had decided to share her meals, to gift her Yuanbao, to help her.
“Thank you,” Shen Jin said. This time, it wasn’t a polite phrase. It was sincere.
Xiao Heng heard those words and smiled. Not the distant, restrained smile of before, but a genuine one, from the heart. “You’re welcome,” he said.
Inside the Peony Pavilion, the banquet reached its climax. Marchioness Yongning suggested that the young ladies present showcase their talents. Some played the zither, some danced, and some recited poetry. Lin Wanqing performed *High Mountains, Flowing Water*, winning loud applause. Wang Caiwei danced the *Soaring Swan Dance*, earning much praise.
When it was Shen Jin’s turn, all eyes turned to her. She rose, walked to the zither, and sat down. “Forgive my humble attempt,” she said, placing her fingers on the strings.
The first note rang—clear and bright.
The second—round and full.
The third—
*Snap.* A string broke. One of the zither strings split in the middle, whipping against the lacquered surface with a harsh sound.
The pavilion fell silent for a moment, then whispers spread.
“The string broke?”
“Shen Jinshu’s zither string snapped.”
“Such a disgrace…”
Lin Wanqing’s lips curved slightly, her gaze toward Shen Jin full of smug satisfaction. But Shen Jin, seated before the broken zither, did not panic.
She had been waiting for this moment for a long time. She rose, turned to face everyone, and spoke calmly: “The string has snapped, so I can’t play. But today I have another piece—one that doesn’t require a zither.”
“Without a zither? Then with what?” someone asked.
Shen Jin drew a short flute from her sleeve. It was bamboo, very ordinary, bought at the market for just a few coins. “With this,” she said, holding it up. “Forgive my humble attempt.”
She played a tune. It was short, lasting no more than half a cup of tea, but it was beautiful. Light and bright—like spring wind through bamboo groves, like a brook flowing over stones, like sunlight falling on petals. When she finished, the Peony Pavilion was silent for a moment, then applause broke out. Not polite applause, but genuine appreciation.
Su Qingyin clapped first, her eyes curved in a smile. Xiao Heng, standing at the back, had his lips curved too—his gaze filled with pride, with tenderness, and with something deeper, harder to name.
Lin Wanqing’s face was ugly. She had expected Shen Jinshu to make a fool of herself. Instead, Shen Jinshu had stolen the spotlight with nothing more than a cheap flute. Beside her, Wang Caiwei whispered, “Sister Lin, when did she learn the flute?”
Lin Wanqing ground her teeth. “How should I know!”
Shen Jin put the flute away and bowed to the crowd. “Forgive my humble attempt.” She returned to her corner, lifted her teacup, and drank again.
Xiao Heng came over and sat beside her. “When did you learn the flute?” he asked softly.
“Never. The original body already knew.”
“You just said ‘original body’?”
Shen Jin’s hand froze. Damn. She’d slipped. “I mean—I already knew,” she hurried to cover.
Xiao Heng looked at her, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t press further. Instead, he said something that made her heartbeat quicken. “When you lie, your left eye twitches. It did last time, and it did just now.”
Shen Jin: “…”
Enough already!