Early the next morning, Bai Ruoyao, wearing a face that clearly showed a sleepless night, knocked on Chu Wusu’s door.
It was quite a while before the door lazily opened from within. Chu Wusu leaned against the doorframe languidly, his collar slightly open, looking like someone whose sweet dreams had been disturbed. His phoenix eyes half-closed as he regarded her.
“What is it?”
Seeing that he had no intention of inviting her in, Bai Ruoyao could only stand awkwardly in place, forcing a smile.
“Wusu, I heard there’s a lantern festival tonight. Let’s go together.”
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Wusu was drifting further and further away from her. An unwillingness churned restlessly in her heart—she refused, refused to lose such a perfect man just like that.
Chu Wusu was about to refuse with disinterest when the door of the neighboring room opened at that moment.
Ji Shu poked out half her body, her fox-like eyes blinking, lively and sly. “A lantern festival? Miss Bai’s invitation—”
She tilted her head toward Chu Wusu, the corners of her lips curving into a sweet, slightly coquettish smile, her voice lifting softly at the end:
“Young Master, we simply can’t miss it~”
Bai Ruoyao was just about to open her mouth to reprimand Ji Shu for eavesdropping, and to say that she hadn’t invited her at all—
But Chu Wusu sighed helplessly, his tone carrying a hint of reluctance. “Fine.”
Bai Ruoyao forced back the words that had already risen to her throat.
Fine. Wusu had finally reluctantly agreed, so she would just grudgingly bring Ji Shu along this time.
It’s just—
I hope she isn’t too much of an eyesore.
Bai Ruoyao lowered her lashes, which gently veiled the flash of viciousness in her eyes.
Bai Ruoyao had dressed up with special care. A peach-pink fitted dress set off her fair complexion, her dark hair half-pinned with dangling ornaments swaying lightly—she looked far more refreshed than she had that morning. By comparison, Ji Shu in her white clothes looked positively plain.
She greeted Chu Wusu with a beaming smile, her gaze falling directly on him, deliberately and not-so-deliberately ignoring Ji Shu behind him.
“Wusu, let’s go.”
Ji Shu pursed her lips but said nothing, obediently following behind the two of them.
Chu Wusu glanced back in confusion, meeting the meaningful look Ji Shu quietly sent him. His fingertips twitched, and he discreetly pinched the bridge of his nose.
—Fine. Who knew what this little fox was plotting, but he’d play along.
Bai Ruoyao wandered through the lantern festival in high spirits, chatting with Chu Wusu quite a bit along the way.
Chu Wusu responded half-heartedly, occasionally glancing back at Ji Shu from the corner of his eye.
Sure enough, while Bai Ruoyao was talking with great enthusiasm, Ji Shu slipped away silently into the crowd.
A barely perceptible gleam flashed through Chu Wusu’s eyes. He patiently kept Bai Ruoyao company a while longer, and when he judged the timing was right, he casually found an excuse.
“Ruoyao, I lost my jade pendant.” His tone was unhurried. “You go on browsing, I’ll go back and look for it.”
Before the words had even finished, without waiting for Bai Ruoyao to react, he turned and left directly, his robes soon disappearing into the bustling crowd.
When he caught up with Ji Shu, she was staring covetously at the string of glossy red candied hawthorn in a vendor’s hand, her fox-like eyes so bright they practically glowed—she was probably about to drool.
Chu Wusu thought mischievously, the corners of his lips lifting slightly.
A large hand with slender, well-defined bones reached out leisurely from behind her, a banknote held between its fingers, extending it directly toward the vendor.
“I’ll take them all.”
……
Ji Shu hugged the straw bundle bristling with candied hawthorns, her lips pouting.
“Why did you buy so many?”
Chu Wusu rubbed his nose, his tone carrying a rare note of helplessness—who could have guessed that the moment the vendor saw such a large banknote, terrified he might change his mind, he’d shoved the straw bundle into Ji Shu’s arms and bolted without a trace.
“You like them, so eat as much as you want.”
Ji Shu’s fox eyes widened slightly. “Even if I like them, I can’t eat this many.”
“If you can’t finish them, just throw them out.” Chu Wusu snapped his fan shut and rapped it lightly against her head.
Ji Shu obediently didn’t dodge, only raised a hand to rub the spot where she’d been tapped.
Chu Wusu’s heart softened, his palm tingling faintly—he suddenly wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and squeeze her properly.
“But you bought these for me. I don’t want to waste them.” Ji Shu hugged the straw bundle and glanced around, her gaze suddenly landing on a group of little children playing by the roadside. Her fox eyes lit up at once.
She went over, crouched down, and chattered something to the children, pointing at Chu Wusu not far away.
The children all turned to look at Chu Wusu, breaking into brilliant smiles, their eyes curving into little crescent moons.
Then, delighted, they took the straw bundle and eagerly divided up the candied hawthorns among themselves.
Ji Shu skipped lightly back to Chu Wusu’s side, the ends of her hair bouncing with her steps.
“There! Now nothing’s wasted~”
She still held one candied hawthorn skewer in her hand, its glossy sugar coating gleaming amber in the lamplight. Her upturned face was radiant as a hibiscus blossom, and those bright fox eyes reflected the sea of lantern fires down the street, shining as if filled with crushed starlight.
Chu Wusu’s throat bobbed slightly. Something deep in his heart was gently tickled, and he couldn’t help laughing softly.
The two walked along the street, and the rushing crowd, like a silent tide, pushed them closer together again and again.
Ji Shu’s fingertips brushed across the back of his hand, light as a petal skimming the surface of water.
Yet a fine layer of tingling warmth spread through Chu Wusu’s chest.
So his large hand naturally closed around her small one, palm to palm, giving it a gentle squeeze, as if to knead that trace of tingling into his very pulse.
Ji Shu, of course, didn’t resist. She only trembled faintly in his palm, then like a tamed little bird, obediently let him play with her hand as he pleased.
She lowered her eyes, then couldn’t help lifting her lashes to steal a shy glance at him—her gaze soft as spring water, falling on Chu Wusu’s heart and stirring gentle ripples.
He couldn’t help a soft laugh, low like wind brushing over harp strings, a hint of unconcealable satisfaction rippling in his eyes.
“My lord…” She bit her lip, her voice sweet and soft, the ending note rising slightly, like a fine silken thread winding—deliberately or not—around one’s heart.
“Hm?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she raised the candied hawthorn in her hand and slowly, leisurely licked away a spot of sugar syrup at the corner of her lips—her tongue slipping out, a soft, tender point, circling once over her lower lip before withdrawing.
Only after all this did she lift her eyes, gazing over at him with limpid, shimmering eyes, a faint, barely-there smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “My lord, would you like a taste of the candied hawthorn?”
The words “a taste” were spoken ever so softly—as if asking about the candied hawthorn, and yet as if asking about something else entirely.
As she spoke, she pressed her lips together again—not to wipe away the sugar, but slowly, slowly, moistening them over, as if absentmindedly, or perhaps deliberately letting someone see clearly.
Chu Wusu had never cared for such cloyingly sweet things, yet now, as his gaze settled on that glistening sheen, he felt his throat tighten. That thin layer of sugary shine on her lips was more tempting than any candied hawthorn.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, his throat as dry as if he had swallowed a ball of fire—he really, truly wanted a taste.