The next day.
When Shen Molan woke up, there was no one by the bed. He had gone to sleep late last night and woke up early as usual, with a slight headache.
Not long after he woke up, there was a knock on the door. It was Xiao Lian.
This girl had never really liked him, which slightly surprised Shen Molan. Xiao Lian’s cold voice said, “Master said, when Young Master Shen wakes up, he should come to the hall for breakfast.”
Right, this was one of the habits they had developed while together.
Shen Molan pressed his temples, “Has Shaoqing woken up?”
For some reason, after saying this, Xiao Lian seemed even more displeased, raising her voice slightly, “Master said there are only two servings for breakfast, for Master and Young Master Shen.”
Shen Molan felt that Feng Wuhen was being unreasonable, but thinking that today would be their last meeting and who knew when they would meet again, he suppressed his faint irritation, “I understand, I’ll be there shortly.”
Xiao Lian, still unhappy, gave a slight bow and left.
Shen Molan sighed inwardly. The Feng Manor truly reflected its master—no rules, and the servants followed suit.
Today’s breakfast was different again.
Porridge, pastries, and buns. The Feng family seemed to enjoy putting effort into breakfast, making different kinds of pastries and buns every day. Coincidentally, pastries and buns were Shen Molan’s favorites, so he had never refused to share breakfast with Feng Wuhen.
The white-clad youth sat opposite him with a smiling face, looking as if he was fishing for compliments, “Yesterday’s breakfast was a bit too sweet for Molan, so I changed the flavor today. I wonder if Molan likes it?”
Though he wanted to leave with pride, Shen Molan had never been able to resist the temptation of pastries since childhood. Moreover, Feng Wuhen’s eager expression made it difficult for him to reject outright.
It’s the last time, Shen Molan told himself.
He took a light bite. The fresh fragrance burst forth, a perfect balance of sweet and salty, the thin skin melting in his mouth, soft and sticky but not overly rich… Green tea cake?
The bun was also soft, and when he bit into the center, sweet egg yolk flowed out.
His cold expression gradually softened. When Feng Wuhen saw it, his heart warmed.
He liked it.
He knew that Shen Molan would like it.
Typically, Feng Wuhen would have lunch and dinner in the study. As the master of the manor, Feng Wuhen didn’t have much to do. He only needed to manage the Feng family’s tea business, which ensured a comfortable life without much effort.
So usually, after checking the supplies and accounts, there was nothing left for him to do. The rest of the work would be handled by the old steward and others. He spent his afternoons flipping through the books his father had left on the shelves, tending to the flowers by the window, painting, and writing.
That was before Shen Molan arrived. After Shen Molan came, whenever it was time to eat, Feng Wuhen would rush back to the main hall and have a maid summon Shen Molan for meals.
Unfortunately, Shen Molan didn’t want to share every meal with Feng Wuhen. Only the ever-changing breakfast could lure him to join. Feng Wuhen, knowing Shen Molan loved finely crafted pastries since childhood, had learned to make some himself. But there had never been an opportunity to offer them to Shen Molan—until now. And of course, he had to pretend it was made by the manor’s cook. If Shen Molan knew the truth, he’d probably show a look of disgust and never touch the pastries again.
Thus, every time, Feng Wuhen would claim the manor’s chef had prepared them. Shen Molan seemed never to suspect that Feng Wuhen was capable of making pastries, and he always ate with great enjoyment.
But this was the last time.
“How is it?” Feng Wuhen asked.
Shen Molan nodded, “Very good, though a bit too much sugar.”
The reserved Shen Molan only ever spoke a few more words when discussing breakfast.
Feng Wuhen let out a sound of surprise. He hadn’t noticed the sugar was too much when he tasted it. “Really? I didn’t find it too sweet.”
Shen Molan responded with indifference, “That’s because there’s something wrong with your taste buds.”
Feng Wuhen thought about it and realized Shen Molan was probably right. Every organ in his body was deteriorating, and his sense of taste was no exception. There really was no saving him now.
Thankfully, he wouldn’t need to prepare breakfast for him anymore.
Feng Wuhen smiled outwardly, however, a faint bitterness crept within.
“Molan, have you packed everything? When will you be leaving?” he asked, the question slightly difficult for him to speak out.
Shen Molan slowly chewed the last bite of his bun before replying, “After breakfast, I’ll check on Shaoqing, and then we’ll go.”
Feng Wuhen pursed his lips, lowering his gaze.
“Molan, remember to come to Feng Manor in September to see the scenery,” he couldn’t help but remind again after holding back for a while.
Shen Molan’s face showed signs of impatience, “Master Feng, what’s the point of this?”
I just want to see you one last time.
The words lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t dare say them out loud, fearing it would make him seem too pitiful.
Feng Wuhen forced a carefree smile, “We can talk about it then.”
Shen Molan said nothing more and finished the last piece of pastry.
“I’m going to check on how Shaoqing’s packing is going,” he said, as if not wanting to be alone with Feng Wuhen any longer, then turned and left the hall.
Feng Wuhen watched Shen Molan’s departing figure and let out a slow breath.
It felt like he had always been watching Shen Molan’s back, yet never able to truly reach him.