At lunchtime in the private room of the Eighth City Drunken Immortal Pavilion, the dishes on the table were simpler than the previous night but still steaming hot.
The atmosphere was completely different from the previous night, with less undercurrent and more of a strange “homely” feel.
Xie Daoan calmly and methodically proposed a suggestion on accelerating fur trade between cities before the end of the year to replenish military funds.
His reasoning was clear, and his analysis of the advantages and disadvantages was very thorough.
Upon hearing this, Feng Qinghe’s eyes lit up instantly.
She abruptly put down her chopsticks, and a bright, undisguised smile bloomed on her face, even carrying a hint of girlish excitement.
She clapped her hands and exclaimed: “Brilliant!
Mr.
Xie!
How did you come up with this idea?
This plan is brilliant!
Not only will it bring us profit, but it will also keep those fickle people in check!
Oh, I like you more and more, really.
I love you!” The words “I love you” came out as naturally as asking “Have you eaten?” Before anyone could react, she stood up like a cheerful swallow and rushed towards the door of the private room like a gust of wind, leaving behind only a sentence that lingered in the air: “You guys eat first!
The osmanthus cakes at the shop by the door are just coming out of the oven right now; I’ll go buy some for everyone to try!” Before he could finish speaking, he had already disappeared outside the door.
A subtle silence fell over the private room.
Gu Anqi’s hand, holding chopsticks, froze in mid-air, a rare crack appearing on his usually gentle face.
Though he quickly concealed it, the astonishment in his eyes lingered.
Although he had heard Feng Qinghe say “like” that morning, hearing it again now carried a different, more nuanced meaning.
Ah Chen froze, nearly dropping the piece of mutton he had picked up.
He abruptly looked up, his gaze sweeping across the empty doorway before settling on Xie Daoan.
His brows furrowed deeply, his expression seeming to say, “What’s wrong with this woman now?” ‘Love’ and ‘like’ were just uttered so casually.
Taking in their reactions, Xie Daoan calmly stroked his long, snow-white beard, a helpless yet kind smile appearing on his face.
He gently set down his teacup, his voice gentle, as if explaining a harmless misunderstanding to a younger relative: “Mr.
Gu, Brother Ah Chen, please don’t take offense, and please don’t worry about it.” He first comforted them before slowly saying, “What Commander Feng said just now was not what you two thought.
It was actually one of Commander Feng’s habits, or rather, a catchphrase she developed in her hometown.” He paused, seemingly organizing his thoughts, before continuing, “Before the age of fifteen, General Feng did not grow up in the Central Plains but lived in a faraway foreign land.
The customs and language there are very different from those of our dynasty.
As far as I know, in that land, friends express their appreciation and gratitude in such a straightforward and passionate way.
Words like ‘like’ and ‘love’ are used in ordinary communication, just like we say ‘admire’ or ‘thank you’—it’s just a common courtesy.” His explanation was reasonable and sincere, instantly dissolving the shocking “I love you” into a harmless “slip of the tongue” caused by cultural differences.
He remained calm, fully aware of the uproar his words had caused in the hearts of Gu Anqi and Ah Chen, who were hearing them for the first time.
He was also unaware that his unconscious gesture of stroking the edge of the teacup revealed the helpless smile brought on by distant memories.
He naturally recalled the scene from many years ago, in the study of the Feng residence piled high with documents, when he first heard those two words from Feng Qinghe.
At that time, they were arguing about the blueprints for a water conservancy project in the northern border.
He quoted classical texts, while she pointed to a section of the river and exclaimed, “This plan is brilliant!
I love you!” Xie Daoan, who was the teacher at the time, was struck dumb.
He almost dropped his brush, his face drained of color, then quickly flushed red.
He almost immediately put down his work and gave her an urgent remonstrance on “the etiquette of the Great Zhou Dynasty,” “the separation of men and women,” and “solemn language,” emphasizing repeatedly that these words should never be uttered casually, especially not to…
well, to a colleague.
Unfortunately, the effect was less than ideal.
Feng Qinghe listened attentively at the time, even nodding in agreement, indicating that she had “learned something.” However, afterwards, she continued to do as she pleased.
It was only later that she seemed to have mastered a certain “measure,” mostly uttering such a phrase only occasionally when only a few close confidants were present and when her mood was genuinely high, and the frequency decreased significantly compared to her earlier years.
Xie Daoan had advised her several times, but seeing that she had no frivolous intentions and it was purely a deeply ingrained habit, he gradually went from initial shock to a helpless wry smile, and now, he even took the initiative to explain it to the newcomers on her behalf.
However, Xie Daoan did not reveal his inner thoughts at this moment.
He only felt that since Mr.
Gu and Brother Ah Chen were newcomers, it would be best not to create unnecessary misunderstandings, after all, in this land of etiquette, not everyone could accept Feng Qinghe’s passionate and bold words.
Upon hearing this, Gu Anqi’s expression softened slightly, revealing a faint smile of realization and helplessness.
He cupped his hands and said, “I see.
I was ignorant.
Thank you for clearing up my doubts, sir.” Whether he fully believed it in his heart was another matter, but at least the awkwardness on the surface was resolved.
Ah Chen’s tense expression eased a little, but he still snorted coldly and continued eating with his head down.
However, he seemed to chew more forcefully.
For him, no matter what the reason, Feng Qinghe’s overly strong and possessive way of expressing herself made him instinctively feel uncomfortable and wary.
Just then, Feng Qinghe returned carrying two bags of steaming, sweet-smelling pastries.
Her face was flushed from running, and she smiled brightly: “Come, come, these are fresh out of the oven; eat them while they’re hot!” She seemed completely unaware of the ripples her words had caused and enthusiastically distributed the pastries to everyone.
Xie Daoan accepted it with a smile, Gu Anqi thanked him and accepted it, but Ah Chen was stiffly taken by Feng Qinghe when she directly stuffed it in front of him, and he put it aside without even looking at it.
Feng Qinghe didn’t mind.
She picked up a piece of osmanthus cake, took a bite, squinted her eyes in satisfaction, and returned to her lazy and leisurely appearance.
After Xie Daoan’s explanation, the atmosphere in the private room seemed to return to “normal.” However, Gu Anqi and Ah Chen both understood that even if “I love you” was a slip of the tongue, Feng Qinghe’s words to Xie Daoan, “I like you more and more,” represented appreciation and reliance.
Moreover, Feng Qinghe’s “interest” in them would not diminish in the slightest because of an explanation about cultural differences.
This Commander Feng is like the pastries she brought; they look sweet on the outside, but who knows what kind of flavor they contain inside.