“He’s my Third Brother!”
Thinking Ji Ying didn’t recognize him, Yan Hang eagerly introduced, then stood up to pull out a chair for her. “Come, sit.”
Fu Jingshen’s gaze fell calmly on her face, his voice steady, flawless: “Fu Jingshen.”
Ji Ying blinked in surprise, then quickly composed herself, replying gracefully: “My surname is Ji.”
Yan Hang froze for a moment, then laughed. “I didn’t know you had the same surname too!”
“What’s wrong?” Ji Ying stepped forward and sat in the chair Yan Hang had pulled out. “Is there someone else with the surname Ji?”
Instinctively, Yan Hang glanced at Fu Jingshen. Seeing his expression remain calm, he shook his head. “No, just feels like a coincidence.”
Fu Jingshen naturally reached out to pour tea for Ji Ying, feigning confusion. “Coincidence? How so?”
Yan Hang explained: “Third Brother, did you forget? Your fiancée Ji Ying and Miss Ji share the same surname.” He paused, then added, “And… both are very beautiful.” Sneaking a glance at Ji Ying, his voice grew quieter.
Ji Ying sipped her tea, then looked at Fu Jingshen with a faint smile. “Then… perhaps another day, Mr. Fu could bring that ‘Miss Ji’ to meet me.”
Fu Jingshen quietly met her gaze. After a moment, he spoke softly: “Unfortunately, my fiancée—”
“Doesn’t pay me much attention.”
“Her two elder brothers guard her closely. I can hardly get near her.”
“Miss Ji, tell me—what should I do?”
Ji Ying: “…?” Her beautiful eyes widened slightly, full of shock, as if to say *what are you talking about?*
Beside them, Yan Hang was so stunned he forgot to drink his tea. He had never realized his Third Brother’s pursuit of a wife was this difficult. His gaze toward Fu Jingshen even carried a hint of sympathy.
Ji Ying set down her teacup, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then perhaps Mr. Fu should reflect on himself—whether he keeps saying things that upset Miss Ji.”
Seeing the young girl puff her cheeks in quiet frustration, Fu Jingshen didn’t tease her further. His voice dropped low: “You’re right.”
“I should reflect.”
Back and forth, their words carried a rhythm. Yan Hang looked at one, then the other, feeling increasingly unnecessary. Today, Fu Jingshen was speaking far more than usual. He coughed lightly, trying to draw Ji Ying’s attention. “Miss Ji, I’ve long heard your tea-brewing skills are unmatched. Might I have the honor of tasting them today?”
“Not at all,” Ji Ying replied with a gentle smile. “But since you two distinguished guests have come specially, I’ll do my best.”
After speaking, Ji Ying gestured for the waiter to bring the shop’s finest Pu’er tea.
The waiter entered carrying a wooden tray with tea leaves and utensils, bowed as he set it before Ji Ying, then quietly withdrew from the private room.
Ji Ying poured the boiling water into the porcelain teapot, rinsing the beautifully patterned cups to warm them. She placed the Pu’er inside, steeped it, then poured out the first infusion.
This step was called “awakening the tea”—the first brew was meant to be discarded. Only the second infusion was fit to drink. Ji Ying calmly poured the second brew into the cups, lifted her clear gaze, and signaled for the two men to taste.
Yan Hang rested his chin in his hand, watching her movements, unable to look away. Raising the cup to his lips, he sniffed and exclaimed: “Fragrant—so fragrant!”
“Miss Ji’s skill truly lives up to its reputation.”
Fu Jingshen cast him a faint glance, then lifted his cup and took a sip.
The flavor entered smooth and warm, followed by a lingering sweetness. The fragrance layered richly across his mouth. Indeed, exceptional.
His gaze lingered, falling on the girl in her teal qipao. Her long black hair flowed down her back, with no excess adornments, highlighting her clean, cool elegance. He couldn’t help recalling the day she had fallen into his arms like a drifting cloud—an image he hadn’t forgotten, like this tea: fragrant on the tongue, sweet in its aftertaste.
Ji Ying took a sip herself, smiling lightly. “This is top-grade Pu’er. Its fragrance is natural.”
Yan Hang insisted: “I don’t care—it’s Miss Ji’s skill that makes it so good.”
Ji Ying couldn’t help laughing. She had thought Yan Hang was like other frivolous young masters, but now he showed a touch of genuine, boyish charm. Looking at him, her smile softened. “These past days, my hospitality has been lacking. I ask Mr. Yan’s forgiveness.”
“Huh?” Seeing her smile, Yan Hang’s face flushed red, his words stumbling. “No, no—it’s fine. I came willingly.”
Fu Jingshen lowered his eyes, the curve of his lips fading as he quietly toyed with his teacup.
Yan Hang drew a deep breath, as if making a decision, and looked firmly at Ji Ying. “Actually, I’ve always admired Ji—”
“Yan Hang.” Fu Jingshen interrupted him.
“Third Brother?” Yan Hang froze. Cut off so abruptly, the words he had wanted to say suddenly felt impossible to speak.
Fu Jingshen pushed his teacup forward. “Pour me some tea.”
Yan Hang stared in disbelief. “Third Brother?”
“I’m thirsty.”
Yan Hang: “…” Wordlessly, he poured tea for Fu Jingshen. But the confession he had almost spoken never left his lips.
The teapot gradually emptied. Ji Ying picked up her phone, checked the time, and was just about to excuse herself when it buzzed with a WeChat message.
F: [Do you want some Cloud Pastries?] [The old master at home made plenty.]
F was Fu Jingshen. And Cloud Pastries were once the most renowned delicacy of Jingyun Pavilion.
Ji Ying’s palm grew hot, her heartbeat skipping. She lifted her eyes in slight panic—only to meet Fu Jingshen’s gaze, smiling knowingly.
In the corner of her vision, Yan Hang remained blissfully unaware.
A strange, awkward thrill rose to Ji Ying’s heart. It was the first time she had done something like this, and her heartbeat quickened. Her fingertips slid lightly across the phone screen as she bit her lip in hesitation. She ought to refuse. She had clearly told her father she would return home early. But it was *Cloud Pastry*. Just a taste wouldn’t take much time, would it? Slowly, she replied with a single word: *Okay.*
“Miss Ji.” At that moment, Yan Hang suddenly spoke, his hesitant gaze turning toward her.
Ji Ying quickly straightened. “Hm?”
“I was wondering if I could ask for your We—” His words were cut off by the sudden ringing of a phone.
Fu Jingshen raised a long finger to his lips, signaling Yan Hang to be silent, then answered the call. Yan Hang assumed it was something urgent for work and awkwardly closed his mouth.
Fu Jingshen murmured a few words before hanging up. Yan Hang asked with concern: “Third Brother, was that work? If you’re busy, you should…” *leave.*
“No problem.” Fu Jingshen set down his phone with deliberate calm. “It was the pastry chef at home. He called to say the cakes are finished.”
Yan Hang blinked in confusion. “Cakes? What cakes?”
Ji Ying’s fingers tightened slightly around her teacup. Her heart felt as though it had been brushed by a feather.
Fu Jingshen’s eyes curved with a smile. “For my little gluttonous cat.”
Yan Hang was completely bewildered. “Third Brother, you keep a cat?”
Ji Ying nearly dropped her teacup, her cheeks blooming with a faint blush like rouge. Hidden from Yan Hang’s view, she shot Fu Jingshen a reproachful glare—only to hear his low chuckle. “Something like that.”
Fu Jingshen rose, adjusting the watch on his wrist. “It’s getting late. Let’s end here for today.”
Yan Hang: “But I still…”
Fu Jingshen: “I imagine Miss Ji has other matters to attend to.”
Ji Ying forced herself to remain composed, nodding as she offered Yan Hang an apologetic smile. “I do have an appointment.”
Yan Hang sighed. “I see.” He slumped his shoulders in disappointment. “Then, until next time.”
Not long after Yan Hang left, a message arrived from Fu Jingshen. He shared his current location—at the parking lot behind West Street.
Ji Ying silently repeated “Jingyun Pavilion” three times to herself, steeling her resolve. She was only going for the Cloud Pastry, not secretly meeting Fu Jingshen behind her family’s back.
After bidding farewell to Chen Yu, Ji Ying opened her parasol and hurried toward the parking lot. From a distance, she spotted Fu Jingshen’s understated Bentley. Her steps slowed as she approached the car. The driver stepped out, bowed, and opened the door for her.
Fu Jingshen had taken off his suit jacket, wearing only a black shirt that revealed his slender wrist. His pale skin against the black fabric, seated in the car, made his profile look sharply carved, his features refined and striking. Yet in the confined space, his innate aura of cold restraint was unmistakable. This was the man outsiders called the heartless, cold-blooded Third Master Fu.
“Afraid to come in?” Fu Jingshen lifted his eyelids, looking toward her.
The young girl stood at the car door, lips pressed lightly together, hesitation spilling from her clear eyes.
Ji Ying shook her head. “I’m not.” She lifted her leg and stepped inside.
The driver closed the door.
Ji Ying didn’t know what to do. She lowered her gaze, her pale fingers nervously rubbing the pearls on her handbag.
Watching her feigned composure, Fu Jingshen’s voice dropped low. “What are you nervous about?” He slowed his tone, speaking in a voice only the two of them could hear. “I’m not going to eat you.”
Ji Ying’s pupils widened slightly. *What was he saying?* Her lashes fluttered like dark feathers as she denied: “I’m not nervous.”
“Really?” Fu Jingshen deliberately pointed out, “You’re practically sitting against the door.”
“Come closer.”
Ji Ying slowly shifted her seat. Now nearer, she could even smell the faint scent of cedar on him—cool and commanding, just like the man himself.
After a pause, she asked the question she had long wanted to: “Why didn’t you tell Yan Hang who I was?”
Fu Jingshen looked quietly at her profile, answering evenly: “He tricked me once before. Shouldn’t I return the favor?”
Ji Ying choked on her words, silently jotting a note in her mind: #Fu Jingshen holds grudges.
“What are you thinking?” He seemed to see straight through her.
Ji Ying quickly shook her head. “Nothing.”
She was far too easy to read—her emotions written clearly in those beautiful eyes, like a spring of water.
Fu Jingshen’s thin lips parted. “You’re saying I hold grudges?”
Ji Ying froze, wanting to deny it, but meeting his gaze that seemed to pierce everything, she simply countered: “Don’t you?”
Fu Jingshen chuckled. “(Sakura) Yinghua, you’re right.”
Ji Ying was caught by that word—*Yinghua*. Only her grandfather called her that. Why was he calling her the same?
Lost in thought, she heard him ask softly again: “Do you want to know what Yan Hang did to me?”
Her long lashes trembled. “What?”
Fu Jingshen looked straight into her eyes, as if studying her reaction, and said slowly: “He’s the reason I couldn’t enter the Ji family’s doors.”
It was unclear how much influence Yan Hang had, but it was enough to make Ji Tianze call that very night to refuse the marriage. “So tell me—shouldn’t I hold that grudge?”
Ji Ying was stunned, her pale fingers frozen on the pearl clasp of her handbag. She blurted out: “When did I… ever stop you from coming in?”