On the day of Xiaohan, the Yan family all returned home. Today, there was a birthday star, and they always gathered around the table to eat.
Yan Zong, carrying a box on his back, returned home early. Hearing that the young master was helping the heir organize the bookshelf in Xunfeng Courtyard, he turned and headed there.
Upon entering, Yan Zong saw someone squatting on the red railing bridge, dressed entirely in white, with a white flower in their hair, looking as if they were in mourning at first glance. This person was tending to a pot of white camellias, their sleeves rolled up, revealing clean and slender wrists, exuding a delicate paleness.
Although Yan Zong was not Yan Jian, he had practiced martial arts since childhood and held a military position, so getting injured was a common occurrence. As the saying goes, “a long illness makes a doctor,” he could tell at a glance that this person was frail and injured.
However, he had no intention of being curious about the people in his elder brother’s courtyard. He quickly withdrew his gaze, but as he stepped onto the bridge, the person turned to look at him, revealing a pair of clear eyes.
Yan Zong paused.
Those who served in the palace, besides martial arts, vigilance, and the ability to stay up all night, also needed keen ears and sharp eyes. Yan Zong was outstanding among them, never forgetting a face once seen. The Yan family hadn’t hired anyone new for a long time, yet this person was unfamiliar.
Perhaps this person didn’t expect it to be him, and quickly composed themselves. But just before their expression returned to calm, Yan Zong’s wolf-like gaze tore through the facade, detecting a deeply suppressed hatred.
No wonder he felt a sense of gloom surrounding this person at first glance.
Yan Zong narrowed his eyes slightly, “Who are you?”
The man was tall and imposing as he approached, causing Song Fengmian to take a half-step back and bow his head in greeting, “Replying to Second Young Master, I am a new tea artisan, my humble name is Jia De.”
“Jia De,” Yan Zong stopped in front of Song Fengmian, openly scrutinizing him, “Fake?”
Second Young Master Yan was different from his elder brother, as sharp as an unsheathed sword, intimidating to behold. Song Fengmian dared not raise his head, saying, “If my humble name can amuse Second Young Master, it is my fortune.”
“Did I laugh?” Yan Zong asked.
“No,” Song Fengmian replied, “I meant that Second Young Master can consider my humble name as a not-so-funny pun.”
Such obedience, yet it appeared in someone full of hatred. Yan Zong discerned four words from it—hypocritical and pretentious. His gaze darkened, about to speak, but was interrupted.
“Second Brother!” Yan Dong emerged from the study, waving at him.
Song Fengmian immediately stepped aside, and Yan Zong strode off the bridge, walking to the corridor, “All done?”
“I worked hard all afternoon, the study is completely new, Big Brother must praise me!” Yan Dong glanced at the person on the bridge, explaining, “This person is new.”
Yan Zong said, “This person is strange.”
“Big Brother brought him back from outside, whether strange or not, Big Brother knows, you don’t need to worry. Come on,” Yan Dong extended his hands, “present your birthday gift.”
Hearing this, Yan Zong said no more, lightly tapped Yan Dong’s palm, and led him to sit on a nearby beauty couch.
“What else can I give you?” Yan Zong untied the strap from his chest, took the box off his back, and handed it to Yan Dong, “Take a look.”
Yan Dong opened the box, revealing a weapon, a black lacquered crossbow with matching arrows.
“This thing is elegant, and with the arrows, it can be carried in a pouch.” Yan Zong, seeing his brother’s delighted expression, also smiled, “Do you like it?”
“Mm-hmm, did you make it?” Yan Zong nodded, and Yan Dong nudged his shoulder, “As expected of my Second Brother, this craftsmanship, not bad, not bad!”
Yan Zong raised an eyebrow, “Of course, who is your Second Brother?”
“The number one expert in the Imperial City!”
“Making a small crossbow?”
“Something that can be done with eyes closed!”
Yan Dong, while loading the arrows, praised his brother, multitasking without missing a beat. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of a figure, immediately turned his shoulder, raised his wrist, aiming the arrowhead at the courtyard gate, saying, “Whoosh—”
The person who just entered sidestepped the crossbow arrow.
Yan Zong’s gaze followed, seeing half an arrow embedded in the half-open courtyard gate, right in the center of the camellia carving. Immediately, a deep spiderweb crack spread from the unfortunate camellia carving, with fragments falling.
Chang Qingqing instructed the attendants to notify the storeroom to replace the door, smiling, “The young master’s archery is no less than the sharpshooters of the Imperial Guard.”
Yan Zong nodded, saying to the person who ran over, “Your hand is steadier.”
“Of course!” Yan Dong was not modest, leaning over to look at the door, very satisfied with the crossbow’s power.
Yan Zong had just returned from the yamen, first changing into casual clothes, and when he came out, his two younger brothers were playing in the courtyard, the younger one climbing onto the older one’s back, refusing to get down, while the older one spun in circles like a spirited mad bull.
It was evening, the twilight casting a golden hue over the two, their similar features lively and bright.
In fact, if you looked closely, he didn’t resemble them.
Yan Zong, carrying Yan Dong, spun another half circle, Yan Dong’s arms locked around Yan Zong’s neck, grinning as he met Yan Zong’s focused gaze. He paused, then quickly shook his head, saying, “Big Brother, let’s go!”
Yan Zong stepped down the path, following his noisy brothers out of the courtyard, heading towards Plum Garden.
As they neared, Snowball appeared from somewhere, bouncing three feet high behind Yan Dong, wanting to be carried.
Yan Zong glanced at the barking little white dog, mercifully scooping him up and handing him to Yan Dong.
Yan Zong, bearing the burden, carried one person and one dog into Plum Garden.
The small kitchen was bustling, Yan Qingyun occasionally cooked, and on family birthdays, he showcased his skills. Cui Fulai couldn’t cook but could make a few pastries, and was currently making chestnut cake for her youngest son. Yan Jian, though kept three feet away from the stove, was determined to learn, absorbing everything but digesting none. Cui Sutang was simmering walnut syrup nearby.
Yu Zhaoying and Hou Yi were also there, playing chess in the pavilion on the long corridor.
The three who just entered couldn’t cook, so after Yan Dong and Snowball jumped down, Yan Zong went to tease Hou Yi outside the corridor.
Hou Yi, troubled by Yu Zhaoying’s chess prowess, immediately stood up, engaging in a spar with Yan Zong, smoothly escaping the losing game.
Yu Zhaoying, fanning himself, disdained such poor sportsmanship.
From the flower hall emerged a person, hair tied with a ribbon, wearing a light blue cotton robe, with features similar to Yan Qingyun, yet with a calm demeanor and elegant grace.
“Second Uncle!” Yan Dong dashed up the steps, standing upright, and solemnly performed a disciple’s salute, “Student greets Yan Professor.”
Yan Cuiwei, once a top scholar in the Hanlin Academy during the previous emperor’s reign, should have been promoted long ago given his vast knowledge and diligence, but he enjoyed compiling books and histories, staying in the Hanlin Academy for years. In the fifteenth year of Cheng’an, the National Academy’s headmaster invited him to be a professor, making Yan Dong’s salute appropriate.
“Quickly, no need for formalities.” Yan Cuiwei lifted Yan Dong’s arm with both hands, patting it with a smile, “You little rascal, I could hear you and your brother playing from afar.”
Yan Dong immediately complained, “Second Brother pinched my leg!”
“You were pulling my teeth!” Yan Zong, flipping over walls with Hou Yi, happened to pass overhead, shouting, “No tattling, or I’ll deal with you when I come down!”
“Threatening people in broad daylight!” Yan Dong spun in place, about to retort when a scream came from the roof. Yan Zong had picked up a small stone, flicking it to hit Yan Zong’s backside, causing him to stumble, giving Hou Yi the chance to knock him off the roof.
“Big Brother!” Yan Zong shouted from behind the house.
Yan Cuiwei shook his head with a smile, turning back to the flower hall to continue sorting plum petals for incense, not interfering with the children’s play.
Yan Dong and Hou Yi laughed wildly, and before Yan Zong could return, Yan Dong pulled Yan Zong into the main house, skillfully finding a wooden box on the outer table, containing a pair of red gloves.
Cui Fulai, titled a princess for her military achievements, was the daughter of a prince’s family before marriage, skilled in all the arts of a noble lady, especially embroidery. She didn’t learn embroidery to care for her future husband, but for peace of mind, yet found joy in it, often threading needles in her spare time.
During the war years, busy with frontline affairs, Cui Fulai couldn’t finish sewing a small robe in a year, and children grew fast, so the next year, she sent a small red jacket and four wind collars back to the capital. In the following years, she sent four identical small items home annually, such as gloves, book bags, scarves, and hair ribbons. After the war, the family reunited, and she continued to embroider the same birthday gifts for the children each year.
The bright red gloves, trimmed with rabbit fur, felt soft and warm. Yan Dong loved them, immediately putting them on and showing them to Yan Zong.
Yan Zong touched the white flying swallow on the gloves, perched on a plum branch, looking serene and cute. His gaze flickered, landing on the face behind the fingers, the lively and beautiful features soaked in happiness, every inch exuding sweetness.
Yan Zong’s Adam’s apple moved, his throat suddenly dry.
“Big Brother,” Yan Dong, unaware of his anomaly, waved his chubby paws, urging, “Do they look good, do they look good?”
Yan Zong snapped back, saying, “They look good.”
“Wrapped so comfortably and warmly… wait,” Yan Dong, rubbing his hands, suddenly eyed Yan Zong, putting on the airs of a birthday star, “You, where’s your gift?”
“Won’t be missing.” Yan Zong’s fingers itched, unable to resist scratching Yan Dong’s chin, coaxing, “After the family banquet, come back with me, I’ll give it to you.”