Morning, just after a sudden rain. Thin sunlight slipped through the dark silk curtains, spilling into the misty, fragrant bedroom, climbing quietly onto the bed, and resting on the porcelain-white, delicate face of a young girl.
The lightly sleeping girl furrowed her fine brows, her long lashes trembling faintly. After a moment, she opened her eyes—misty, water-bright—and gazed toward the window. Daylight had already risen.
Soon, Ji Ying pushed herself up from the bed, eyes half-closed. The rose-pink velvet quilt slid slowly down her pale arm. She smoothed her slightly tousled black hair, wearing only an ivory camisole nightdress, her bare feet touching the floor.
The calming pear-blossom incense had burned to ash. Ji Ying leaned forward, emptied the copper censer, then walked to the window. She drew back the heavy curtains, opened the frame, lifted her face, and breathed in the fresh air after spring rain.
Last night’s downpour had kept her awake, raindrops drumming on the eaves. She had finally lit incense and drifted into sleep after much tossing. Looking at the sky now, she guessed more rain would come today. She picked up her phone from the bedside table—7:30. Still early, but with important matters ahead, she could not afford to sleep again. Spring rain yields the finest tea leaves, and this batch would be a rare treasure. Ji Ying needed to inspect them herself. After washing, she chose a powder-blue qipao from the wardrobe. At first unfamiliar, she recognized it as a birthday gift from her elder brother Ji Chen last year, each pattern stitched by the most skilled embroiderers, worth a fortune. Since she had taken it out, she did not put it back. Lowering her gaze, she fastened the clasps slowly—wearing, in effect, “a car’s worth” upon her body.
Dressed, she touched up her complexion with powder, opened the door, and descended the stairs. The Ji residence was quiet in the morning, with only the faint sound of servants cleaning the living room.
Then her mother, Yu Wanqing, spoke in her graceful voice: “Darling, why are you up so early?”
Yu Wanqing, long accustomed to rising early for health, had already finished a round of yoga.
Ji Ying did not tell the truth. “I slept enough, so I got up.” She walked to the dining table and picked up the bird’s nest porridge that the servants had prepared.
Yu Wanqing approached, tapped her daughter’s forehead lightly, and scolded with affection: “Mother only worries you’ll tire yourself. The weather’s turning cold and rainy—what if you catch a chill?”
Ji Ying’s long lashes fluttered as she swallowed the porridge. “I don’t fall ill that easily.”
“You still say that!” Yu Wanqing replied. “Your body is so fragile that a gust of wind could knock you down. It’s taken years of care just to bring back some color.” She looked Ji Ying up and down, frowning. “You’re going out? To the teahouse again?” Her voice grew heavier.
Yu Wanqing had never approved of her youngest daughter managing the teahouse—too many tasks, too draining.
Ji Ying had been frail since birth, cherished like a jewel for twenty years, the family fearful of any mishap.
The Ji family’s wealth was enough for Ji Ying to squander for a lifetime; there was no need for her to run a shop. Yet ever since she entered university, Ji Ying had been determined to keep it going, and she had persisted until now.
Seeing she could not avoid it, Ji Ying sighed inwardly and truthfully explained her plans.
Yu Wanqing’s expression changed, but before she could start lecturing, Ji Ying smoothly shifted the topic: “Where’s Dad? I haven’t seen him.”
Speaking of Ji Tianze, Yu Wanqing smiled: “He went to the company.”
“So fond of work—let it keep him company for life. What’s the point of having a family?”
Ji Tianze is in danger.
Ji Ying lowered her head and ate faster.
Yu Wanqing muttered a few more words, then turned the subject again: “And you…”
Ji Ying interrupted: “What about big brother? Didn’t he say he was preparing to return to the country soon? Why is there still no news?” She pointed to the qipao she was wearing, her beautiful face showing an innocent smile. “This qipao was a gift from him.”
At the mention of Ji Chen, Yu Wanqing smiled again: “Your big brother? I can’t control him anymore.” Her fingertips tapped the table rhythmically. “Twenty-six and still no girlfriend. Every introduction he refuses. Does he think he’s above everyone?”
Ji Ying ate faster, agreeing softly: “Yes.”
“Your brother said he’ll be back next week,” Yu Wanqing added gently. “But I told him—if he doesn’t bring a girl home, he’s not allowed to step inside.”
Ji Ying froze, then lifted her gaze, her eyes suddenly shining brighter. “Really? Next week for sure?”
Yu Wanqing hummed lightly through her nose.
Ji Ying’s lips curved upward uncontrollably.
Ji Chen had long taken on responsibilities in the family corporation. Two years ago, he went abroad to expand overseas markets, so busy he could hardly return even once a year. This news meant her big brother was finally coming home.
Unfortunately, the porridge was left unfinished as the topic shifted again. Ji Ying deftly redirected the conversation: “I heard second brother was trending again last night.”
Her second brother, Ji Huai, was the family’s number one troublemaker. A few years ago, he had insisted on entering the entertainment industry, clashing fiercely with the family. Yet with a face the media called a “miracle of humanity,” even though his bad temper was notorious and his acting so poor it could feed an entire community of critics, he still rose to the top as a superstar, adored by countless fans.
At the mention of Ji Huai, Yu Wanqing’s elegant smile nearly faltered. “Trending for what this time?”
She quickly reached for her phone, but Ji Ying said calmly: “Nothing much.”
It wasn’t surprising Yu Wanqing reacted this way—Ji Huai had been on countless negative trending lists since his debut, dragging the Ji family’s ancestors through endless public scorn.
“Just that the costume drama he starred in premiered yesterday.”
“Oh~” Yu Wanqing visibly exhaled in relief, flicking her fingers dismissively. “Was he criticized again for acting like a block of wood?”
Ji Ying bit her lip to stifle a laugh and nodded.
Yu Wanqing rubbed her temples helplessly. “When you’re outside, don’t tell anyone Ji Huai is my son.”
As they spoke, Ji Ying finished the last spoonful of porridge. Taking advantage of her mother’s scolding of Ji Huai, she quickly grabbed her bag and stood up. “Mom, I’m heading out.”
She was nearly at the door when a voice called from behind: “Stop.”
Ji Ying paused. “…”
Yu Wanqing picked up a white shawl from the sofa and draped it over her daughter’s shoulders. “It’s chilly—wear this.”
Ji Ying turned back, smiling sweetly. “Thank you, Mom.”
“Don’t forget your umbrella,” Yu Wanqing reminded. “And come home early.”
“I know.”
Behind the Ji residence, pink cherry blossoms had scattered across the ground, filling the courtyard with fragrance. At some point, a fine drizzle began to fall again. Ji Ying opened her umbrella and stepped slowly out of the vast front yard. Settling into the back seat, she spoke softly to the driver: “Uncle, to Yulinling.”
Western Beijing Old Street.
By the time he got out of the car, the rain had grown heavier. Large drops splashed against the hard bluestone road, raising muddy puddles.
From the parking lot to the teahouse was barely two hundred meters, yet Fu Jingshen’s suit trousers were already damp. He looked up at the teahouse ahead, which from the outside seemed ordinary, and once again thought this morning’s outing was a foolish decision.
Yulinling.
The teahouse’s signboard bore three characters written in flowing cursive script. It was unclear which master had inscribed them, but the skill was evident.
Fu Jingshen glanced at it, then closed his umbrella and stepped toward the door.
The wind chimes under the eaves rang softly. A moment later, the antique wooden door opened from within. Two attendants in green qipaos bowed with smiles.
Fu Jingshen lifted his eyelids, briefly scanning the interior. Corridors wound around, water channels flowed, and the air was filled with curling tea fragrance. The furnishings were tasteful.
After providing the number of his reserved room, the attendants politely guided him. The seats he passed were crowded with guests.
Yan Hang’s reservation was on the second floor, in a window-side private room, separated by carved screens to form a small personal space.
From several meters away, Yan Hang waved. “Over here!”
The man approaching moved with tall, lean grace. His black shirt outlined a slender frame. When he lifted his eyes, his pupils were dark as ink. From them, Yan Hang caught a glimpse of the impatience that had been simmering all morning.
Toying with his teacup, Yan Hang raised a brow.
Cold-hearted as Third Master Fu was, he probably thought that sipping tea by the window and watching the rain was nothing but a waste of life.
And indeed, that was exactly what Fu Jingshen thought. He set down the still-dripping umbrella. Transparent droplets slid down his long fingers. Pulling a tissue, he slowly wiped his fingertips.
“You’d better have a reason,” Fu Jingshen said coolly.
Yan Hang poured him a cup of tea, grinning. “Of course I do—an important reason. My life’s great matter!”
“That has nothing to do with me.” Fu Jingshen glanced lightly at the pale-blue porcelain cup, the clear tea misting up and blurring his vision. It was fine tea—top-grade Mao Feng.
Yan Hang protested: “Are we brothers or not?!”
Fu Jingshen’s cool fingers traced the rim of the cup, his face expressionless. “If we’re brothers, does that mean I have to spend a weekend morning here—”
“Drinking tea with you?”
If Yan Hang couldn’t hear that Fu Jingshen’s patience was gone, then all his years of friendship were wasted. He quickly got to the point, lowering his voice: “I came here with business partners once, and met the proprietress.”
“You haven’t seen her—she’s truly like a celestial maiden descended, beautiful as a lotus fairy.”
The tea’s warmth had faded. Fu Jingshen lifted the cup, blew gently, and asked, “And then?”
“Then I kept inviting Sheng and the others to come drink tea here.” Yan Hang leaned on his elbow, gazing gloomily out the window. “But no matter how many times I came, I never saw her again.”
“Has the fairy returned to heaven?”
Fu Jingshen gave a short laugh, lowered his head, and drank without comment.
Yan Hang still stared outside. “Why can’t I see her again? Could she really be a fairy?”
“Gods above, tell me—will the fairy come today?” His fingers tapped the table as he muttered, “Let’s bet: if the rain stops, she’ll appear.”
No sooner had he spoken than the driving wind and rain outside the wooden window eased. The rippling water on the old street smoothed, disturbed only by fine raindrops forming tiny whirlpools. A breeze stirred the willow branches with a rustling sound.
Across the lakeside stone bridge, at some unknown moment, a graceful figure appeared, walking lightly down. Yan Hang rubbed his eyes in disbelief, whispering, “She’s manifested.”
Unable to tear his gaze away, he asked Fu Jingshen, “Well?”
Fu Jingshen lowered his head, his Adam’s apple shifting as he swallowed a mouthful of tea. The taste was slightly bitter. Though the tea was precious, the brewing was poor—the leaves hadn’t awakened, wasting their quality.
“Average.”
“I meant the woman, not the tea!” Yan Hang jerked his chin toward the window. “Look—the proprietress.”
Fu Jingshen poured himself another cup, then followed his gaze, looking faintly outward. At a glance, he saw the beauty stepping down from the stone bridge, slowly approaching from the end of the alley.
Raindrops dripped from the eaves. She held a small white umbrella, and as she walked, the powder-blue qipao embroidered with golden threads outlined her graceful figure. A glimpse of her fair, slender legs showed—skin like jade, delicate and luminous.
Yan Hang kept pressing: “Well? Well? Isn’t she the fairy herself!”
At that moment, as if sensing something, the approaching beauty lifted her eyes slightly. In the flicker of her gaze— Their eyes met.
Brows soft as flowing water, skin like jade brushed by the breeze.
Though spring colors filled the world outside, he saw none of them.
The teacup in his hand tipped, water spilling over. The freshly boiled tea was scalding; it splashed across his palm, and Fu Jingshen instinctively loosened his grip. The cup slipped down his suit trousers, hit the floor, and shattered with a crisp sound. The spilled tea soaked his sleeve and pant leg.
Yan Hang jumped in shock. “Are you alright?” He stared at the broken pieces on the floor, dumbfounded. “How did that happen?”
Fu Jingshen closed his eyes briefly. “Didn’t hold it steady.” In that short moment, when he looked down again, the beauty was already gone.
Yan Hang didn’t think much of it, waving for the attendants to clean up. “Ah, well.” After that, he craned his neck toward the window again. “Where is she? Could she have already come inside?”
Fu Jingshen pulled a tissue, lowering his head to wipe his wet sleeve. A graceful attendant approached with a towel, but when Fu Jingshen lifted his eyes slightly, the coldness in his gaze made her retreat a step.
Drenched and disheveled, Fu Jingshen had no desire to linger. He said to Yan Hang: “That’s enough for today.”
“Fine, fine.” Yan Hang was too busy scanning the room, stretching his neck to look around. “Let’s go, let’s go.” Then he teased, dragging out his tone: “As expected of Third Master—already transcending worldly desires.”
Fu Jingshen cast him a faint glance, too indifferent to reply, and rose to leave the private room. His black shirt and suit trousers were marked with dark water stains, droplets still falling as he walked.
“Quality is mediocre.” Ji Ying’s jade-white fingers lightly pinched a tea bud, her other arm resting on the chair as she ascended the stairs. “Doesn’t seem like organic tea.”
Manager Chen Yu followed behind, startled at her words. “Store Manager, Boss Wang has worked with us several times before, always smoothly. How could there be a problem this time?”
Ji Ying crushed the tea bud between her fingers, the smile fading from her beautiful eyes. Lowering her long lashes, she stared at the broken fragments of tea leaves in her hand.
Having managed the teahouse for her master for so long, how could Ji Ying not understand the twists and turns within? Wang Xing’s behavior was nothing more than testing her, assuming that she was a young woman without a background; he could cut corners and pass off inferior goods. As she was lost in thought, a sound came from the far end of the spiral wooden staircase—someone was coming down.
The staircase was narrow, so Ji Ying shifted to the side to make room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the edge of a black coat and a pair of long legs wrapped in suit trousers. The legs stopped right in front of her, unmoving.
Ji Ying paused, then lifted her head. The man was much taller than she, and standing one step higher on the stairs, forcing her to tilt her neck to look up. She noticed the dark tea stains on his suit trousers.
The man was undeniably handsome. The warm orange light of the teahouse spilled across his profile, highlighting features cold and noble, almost divine in their aloofness. He looked refined yet distant, difficult to approach.
Ji Ying’s long lashes trembled faintly, concealing the ripple in her gaze.
It was him again.
After a moment, she turned her head. From her bag, her slender wrist drew out a handkerchief embroidered with delicate patterns. Meeting Fu Jingshen’s eyes, she extended it toward him. Her voice was calm: “Wipe it.”