Old Mrs. Jiang didn’t take Pei Shuyi to too many places in the morning, letting her return before lunch.
Pei Shuyi was sitting in the courtyard when she suddenly heard a familiar set of footsteps.
Looking up, it was the man who had left last night.
Jiang Congli stopped in front of her, glanced at her complexion—quite rosy.
“What time did you get up today?” he asked.
“Seven-thirty.”
“On your own?”
“Otherwise? You weren’t here.”
Only after saying this did Pei Shuyi realize it sounded a bit off, as if she had been waiting for him.
Jiang Congli clearly caught it too but said nothing, simply handing over the paper bag in his hand.
Pei Shuyi took it and opened it.
Inside were several oil-paper packets, each neatly folded.
“Snacks from Hong Kong—shrimp dumplings, egg tarts, and bowl cakes.”
Pei Shuyi picked up the packet containing the egg tarts. Even before opening it, she caught a rich, milky aroma.
Opening it, she saw two egg tarts neatly arranged inside. The pastry was golden, and the custard had baked to a caramel-colored sheen, still faintly warm.
She picked one up and took a bite. The crisp sound of the pastry shattering was especially clear in the quiet courtyard. The sweet fragrance of the custard melted on her tongue, different from what she had tasted in Beijing.
“Delicious,” she mumbled.
Jiang Congli watched her expression shift from neutral to content, his gaze softening further.
“One more should be enough. Save room for dinner.”
Pei Shuyi looked up and glared at him.
Just like her brother—a killjoy.
“Three?”
“Two.”
Pei Shuyi looked at his unyielding face, lowered her head, and stuffed the remaining half of the egg tart into her mouth, chewing vigorously.
…
After dinner, Jiang Congli was summoned by Old Mrs. Jiang to the east wing.
Inside the Serenity Chamber.
“Congli, tell your grandmother the truth—what is your relationship with Shu Yi now?”
Jiang Congli rarely hesitated to answer.
“I’m asking you,” the old madam’s voice was low but earnest. “What are your intentions toward her? Do you even know yourself?”
“I do,” Jiang Congli said.
“Then tell me, what are they?”
Jiang Congli lowered his eyes, looking at his hands resting on his knees.
Outside the window, insects chirped one after another, making the room feel especially quiet.
“I’m pursuing her.”
Old Mrs. Jiang looked at him in surprise.
Her grandson, Jiang Congli, was pursuing someone.
Those years of temple visits really weren’t in vain.
“If you need anything at all, tell your grandmother,” the old madam’s tone brightened noticeably.
Jiang Congli, however, shook his head. “I’d rather not trouble you for now.”
Though she appeared gentle on the surface, when Old Mrs. Jiang decided to act, her methods were swift and decisive. Jiang Congli worried it might scare her off.
“Fine, then I’ll wait for your good news. Oh, by the way, I took Shu Yi to visit the temple today.”
“We talked about her family along the way.”
Hearing this, Jiang Congli looked up at his grandmother.
Old Mrs. Jiang set down her teacup and recounted Shu Yi’s words to him, one by one.
Jiang Congli listened without interrupting, his expression unchanged.
When she finished, Old Mrs. Jiang looked at him.
“Congli, your grandmother must warn you—if you don’t have serious intentions toward her, don’t provoke her. She can’t handle being toyed with.”
“I know,” he said.
Old Mrs. Jiang looked into his eyes for a long moment, then waved her hand. “Alright, you’ve always known your limits. Go back and rest early.”
Jiang Congli stood up and walked to the door, but suddenly stopped.
“Grandmother.”
“Hmm.”
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
Jiang Congli didn’t answer. He opened the door and left.
Thank you for bringing me to Qingtan Mountain, for letting me meet her.
As soon as Jiang Congli returned, he resumed his unwavering routine of supervising Pei Shuyi’s early rising.
At exactly eight o’clock the next morning, he appeared punctually outside Pei Shuyi’s door.
He stood at the doorway, raised his hand, and knocked twice—not too lightly, not too heavily.
There was no immediate response from inside. He waited a few seconds, then knocked twice more.
This time, the door opened.
Pei Shuyi stood at the entrance, her long hair already tied up. She wore a light cyan dress, and her face still carried the fresh moisture from washing.
She glanced at him and stepped aside to let him in.
“You didn’t sleep in today,” Jiang Congli remarked.
Pei Shuyi chose not to respond to such comments.
After all, she was a grown woman in her twenties. Did she not have any dignity?
Jiang Congli watched her proud, aloof back, the corners of his lips lifting silently. Carrying a food container, he walked in and placed it on the table.
The man opened the container and laid out its contents one by one.
Shrimp dumplings, seafood porridge, and a small dish of pickled vegetables.
A feast for the eyes, nose, and palate.
As Pei Shuyi ate, Jiang Congli picked up the teapot and poured water for her, his movements unhurried.
“What are your plans for today?” he asked.
Pei Shuyi chewed on a shrimp dumpling. “Grandma said she still wants to visit a few more temple halls today. I’ll accompany her.”
Jiang Congli lifted his teacup and took a sip. Before he could set it down, his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen—it was a call from Old Mrs. Jiang.
“Grandmother.”
Old Mrs. Jiang’s voice on the other end was neither too loud nor too soft, but Pei Shuyi, sitting across from him, could hear every word clearly.
“Congli, my throat is a bit uncomfortable today—seems like I’ve caught a cold. I won’t be going out. Accompany Shu Yi around in my place.”
Jiang Congli listened to the call but didn’t reply immediately.
He lifted his gaze and looked at Pei Shuyi, who was also looking back at him. Their eyes met.
Old Mrs. Jiang continued on the other end, “Shu Yi hasn’t been to those halls before, right? Take her around. Don’t let her go alone. She’s just recovered, so keep an eye on her. Don’t walk too fast, and don’t let her catch a chill—”
“Alright,” Jiang Congli interrupted her.
There was a brief pause on the other end, and a barely detectable hint of amusement crept into the old lady’s voice. “That settles it, then. I’ll hang up now.”
The call ended.
Jiang Congli placed his phone on the table, picked up his teacup, and took another sip.
Pei Shuyi picked up a shrimp dumpling, took a bite, and chewed slowly, her gaze resting on Jiang Congli’s face.
“Grandma caught a cold?” she asked.
“She said her throat is uncomfortable.”
Pei Shuyi nodded.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the window lattice, falling onto the table between them, making the white porcelain bowls gleam.
“What time do you want to set off, Shu Yi?”
Pei Shuyi thought for a moment and replied, “Nine o’clock.”
Jiang Congli naturally deferred to her. “Wear comfortable shoes. It’s not a short walk.”
“Got it.”
…
At exactly nine o’clock, Jiang Congli was already waiting outside Pei Shuyi’s door.
The man had changed into a dark gray thin jacket, which, compared to his usual suits, was less formal and more casual.
In his hand, he carried a cloth bag, bulging and full, though it was unclear what was inside.
Seeing Pei Shuyi come out.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The two walked along the stone path of Qingtan Temple toward the mountain.
Jiang Congli walked on the outer side, his pace much slower than usual, so Pei Shuyi didn’t need to deliberately slow down to keep up.
“What’s in your bag?” Pei Shuyi asked.
Jiang Congli unfolded the cloth bag to show her: water, tissues, a thin blanket, a small packet of osmanthus candy, an umbrella, and a handkerchief.
“The wind is strong up the mountain. If you get tired from walking, you can sit for a while—use the blanket as a cushion. The osmanthus candy is in case you get hungry halfway. The rest are just some emergency items.”
“Oh.”
“Jiang Congli.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you treat others like this too?”