Shen Chenbi tucked the peace talisman close to her body and obediently stayed in her room for three whole days.
On the first day, she opened the newly purchased jasmine-scented powder and smelled it eight times.
On the second day, she took out all her eyebrow pencils and lined them up in a row, arranging them neatly from darkest to lightest.
On the third day, she lay sprawled on the windowsill, counting the ants in the courtyard.
When she had counted to three hundred and seventy-two, the maid Qingzao came in carrying a plate of osmanthus cakes. Seeing her young miss slumped over the windowsill as though half dead, Qingzao felt terribly sorry for her.
“Miss, if you’re really bored out of your mind, why not take a walk in the garden? The Eldest Miss went out today and won’t be back before dark.”
Shen Chenbi’s eyes lit up.
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” Qingzao said in a lowered voice. “I saw the Eldest Miss’s carriage heading west out of the city with my own eyes. They said she was going to check the accounts of some shop. She won’t be back for three or four hours at least.”
Shen Chenbi scrambled to her feet, grabbed an outer garment, and draped it over herself.
Her sister wasn’t home, so she could go out and get some fresh air—she wasn’t leaving the residence, just taking a turn around her own garden. That surely didn’t count as breaking the rules, did it?
The Shen household’s residence was not particularly large, but its garden had been laid out with exquisite care. Her mother had tended it herself while she was alive. After her mother passed away, her sister took over. Although her sister did not have their mother’s leisurely passion for tending flowers and plants, she had kept the garden clean and orderly, with seasonal blossoms and trees all year round.
Shen Chenbi strolled slowly along the pebble path. When she passed the old pomegranate tree, she suddenly stopped.
A kite was hanging from one of the pomegranate tree’s branches.
It was a swallow kite, its base made of black silk and its edges outlined in gold. A scarlet pomegranate blossom had been painted on each of its wings. The kite was caught among the branches, its slender tail feathers dangling down and swaying in the wind.
Shen Chenbi looked up at it for a moment before recognizing it.
It was her kite.
Her mother had made it for her by hand the previous spring, while she was still alive. Her mother’s craftsmanship had not been very good. The swallow had been made crooked, with one wing larger than the other, and whenever it flew, it always veered to the left. But her mother had said, “Crooked is fine. As long as it can fly.”
Afterward, when her mother was gone, Shen Chenbi had no idea where the kite had been put away.
So how had it ended up hanging from the pomegranate tree today?
Shen Chenbi rose onto her toes and tried, but she could not reach it. She jumped twice more. Her fingertips barely brushed the tail feathers, but instead of pulling it down, she only caused the kite to sway even higher.
Unwilling to give up, she glanced around and spotted a Taihu stone half a person’s height beside the pomegranate tree. She gathered up her skirt, climbed onto it carefully, braced herself against the trunk, and stretched out her arm.
Her fingertips were still half an inch away from the kite.
Shen Chenbi bit her lower lip and rose a little higher onto her toes.
She did not notice at all what this scene looked like to someone else.
It was late spring in the afternoon, and the pomegranate blossoms were in full bloom. Their blazing scarlet red set off her moon-white blouse and black hair, like someone had splashed a handful of scattered snow across red silk. Her face was tilted upward, and the wisps of hair at her temples had been dampened by sweat and clung to her cheeks. Sunlight gave her skin an almost translucent quality, making her entire person seem to glow.
—Unfortunately, there was only one thing in Shen Chenbi’s mind at that moment: reaching the kite.
A little higher. Just a little higher.
Almost there. Almost.
Then the soles of her feet slipped.
“Ah!”
Shen Chenbi toppled backward. She instinctively closed her eyes, waiting for her back to slam against the stone paving—
But it never did.
Someone caught her from behind.
It was not an embrace but a steadying hand. One hand firmly supported her back, while the other held her arm through her sleeve. The strength was neither too light nor too heavy, just enough to keep her standing.
Still shaken, Shen Chenbi opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was a sleeve embroidered with bamboo patterns. Then she caught the faintest trace of pinewood fragrance.
She froze for a moment.
She seemed to have smelled that scent somewhere before.
The person behind her had already released her and stepped back, putting a proper distance between them.
Shen Chenbi turned around and lifted her head.
The man stood with his back to the light. He was tall and slender, dressed in a moon-white scholar’s robe, with refined and gentle features. His face was indistinct against the glare, but his brows and eyes seemed open and composed, and there was a scholarly air about him characteristic of a learned man.
His eyes lowered slightly, resting on her face for a breath before shifting away toward the kite caught in the top of the pomegranate tree.
“Yours?”
Shen Chenbi nodded instinctively.
The man said nothing more. He stepped forward, raised a hand, and plucked the kite from the branches. He was tall enough that the motion was effortless. As his sleeve swept through the air, it carried another waft of pinewood fragrance to the tip of Shen Chenbi’s nose.
“Take it.” He held the kite out to her.
Shen Chenbi accepted it with both hands and hugged it to her chest. Then she looked up and smiled at him. “Thank you.”
The smile came so casually that even she herself paid it no mind. She had been born with a pair of peach-blossom eyes, the corners slightly tilted upward. When she did not smile, they looked cool and aloof; when she did, they curved into crescents, their eyes rippling with watery light like peach-blossom-tinted water stirred by a spring breeze.
The man’s lowered lashes moved almost imperceptibly.
Shen Chenbi noticed nothing. She lowered her head and began patting the dust from the kite, muttering as she did so, “How did it get up there? It was clearly stored in the warehouse…”
“Second Young Miss.”
A voice suddenly came from outside the moon gate.
Shen Chenbi looked up and saw Steward Zhou standing there. She had no idea when he had arrived, but he wore an expression of hesitation, as though he wanted to say something but could not.
“Uncle Zhou,” Shen Chenbi said, raising the kite in her hands. “How did this end up in the tree?”
Steward Zhou coughed, his gaze drifting somewhat evasively. “This old servant was tidying the warehouse today and saw that the kite had gathered dust, so I took it out to air. I didn’t expect a strong gust just now to blow it into the tree.”
Shen Chenbi did not think much of it. She gave an “oh” and lowered her head to examine the kite again.
Steward Zhou’s gaze passed over her and landed on the man behind her. He bowed respectfully.
The man inclined his head slightly, his expression calm, as if he had merely happened to pass by and lend a hand.
“Uncle Zhou,” he said, his voice warm and gentle, neither hurried nor slow, “is the Eldest Miss at the residence?”
“The Eldest Miss went out to check the accounts. She will not return until after dark.”
The man paused, as though considering something. After a moment, he said, “Then I will come pay my respects another day.”
He gave Steward Zhou a slight bow, then turned to Shen Chenbi and inclined his head in farewell. “I shall take my leave.”
Shen Chenbi was completely absorbed in picking a withered leaf from the kite’s tail. She did not even look up when she heard him, merely saying casually, “Take care,” her attention fixed entirely on the stubborn leaf that refused to come off.
The man looked at her once, then turned and left.
Steward Zhou escorted him out, accompanying him all the way to the main gate before stopping.
After the man left the Shen Residence, the pageboy waiting at the entrance of the alley immediately came forward.
“Master, did you meet the Eldest Miss Shen?”
“She wasn’t there.”
The pageboy let out an “ah,” scratching his head in disappointment. Then he remembered something and lowered his voice.
“Master, while you were inside just now… did you see the Second Miss Shen?”
The man’s footsteps halted.
“Mm.”
The pageboy carefully studied his master’s expression and ventured, “Then the Second Miss Shen… is she really like the rumors say?”
“Like what?”
“Well…” The pageboy made a vague gesture. “The one who isn’t very bright in the head.”
The man did not answer.
He merely turned his head slightly, his gaze settling on the old locust tree at the entrance of the alley, as though recalling something.
After a long while, he finally said, “She really isn’t very clever.”
The pageboy breathed a sigh of relief and was just about to respond.
Then the man added, “But she really is beautiful.”
The pageboy fell silent.
No, Master, when you say something like that, could you please not use the same tone you use when writing a policy essay?
Besides, you usually would not spare even the prime minister’s daughter more than a glance. So how had you suddenly taken an interest in the Second Miss Shen—
The pageboy held that complaint in for a long time, not daring to voice it.
Showing excellent judgment, he followed after him and changed the subject. “Then are we still coming back?”
“We are.” The man’s expression remained indifferent. “Her sister owes me.”
The pageboy shut his mouth.