“It’s nothing, go ahead and eat. I just got a bit of sand in my eyes,” Gu Jingan said.
Xie Yuechan couldn’t help but wonder: was the man sitting across from her truly a mere mortal? How could someone eat hotpot and still look like they were feasting on heavenly mist and mountain dew? To her, he seemed to inhabit a realm of ethereal grace, a world entirely removed from her own.
His features were naturally elegant, carrying a persistent air of detachment. Usually, when he wasn’t smiling, no one dared to crack a joke in his presence. Now, with his brow slightly furrowed, that coldness intensified. He looked exactly like the senior disciple of some immortal sect from a legend—or perhaps the youngest, most reclusive grandmaster to ever break through his cultivation.
He was, truly, a figure out of a divine painting.
In reality, this “divine figure” couldn’t stop his eyes from darting toward the plum juice his young brother was drinking. He was burning up; the spice was killing him.
Meanwhile, Gu Changsheng had finally mastered the rhythm of the meatballs. His chopsticks moved with increasing agility, darting into the pot to fish them out whenever the adults weren’t looking. He was hitting his mark every single time.
He managed to snag one, but in his haste, he bit down before it could cool. The scalding juice from the center of the fish ball sprayed out. Changsheng felt a sharp sting on his lips and instinctively licked the stray broth, his mouth instantly filled with a fresh, savory explosion.
The green vegetables only needed a few seconds in the broth. When lifted out, they retained a crisp sweetness that perfectly cut through the richness of the spicy oil.
Between the high summer night temperature and the billowing steam from the pot, Gu Changsheng—who was sitting closest—had a face as red as a beet. Xie Yuechan wasn’t much better. Fortunately, she had already removed her makeup for the night; otherwise, the sweat would have turned her face into a streaky mess of white foundation.
Yet, not a single person complained about the heat.
There was something cathartic about huddling around a stove outdoors on a summer night. It forced out all the sweat they had been holding in during the stifling day, and whenever a light breeze drifted past, it felt like pure bliss.
“When winter comes and the snow starts falling, we can set up the stove out on the veranda,” Xie Yuechan mused. “We’ll use a rich broth simmered from beef and lamb bones, throw in some crushed chili, chopped scallions, and cilantro, a handful of peppercorns… you wouldn’t even need extra dipping sauces for it to be delicious.”
“The first bowl has to be the broth, though—to warm the body,” she added.
Having eaten her fill, Xie Yuechan leaned back in her chair, squinting at the sky. Half her mind was wandering through the clouds, while the other half was busy planning their winter menus.
Gu Jingan, ever the stickler for propriety, saw her slumped there with zero posture. His brow twitched; a lecture was already on the tip of his tongue. But then he remembered Gu Changsheng was right there. Thinking he should save her some face in front of a junior, he simply frowned and looked away, keeping his silence.
He didn’t even realize that, in that moment, he had begun to think of Xie Yuechan as “one of his own.”
“From the veranda, we’ll have a perfect view of the snow. Just think—a world of silver and white in the twelfth lunar month. How poetic is that?” Xie Yuechan prattled on. “Beef and lamb are a must, but we can do sliced fish, too. And we’ll have hot wine to go with the meat! Oh, and we can freeze the tofu in the snow ahead of time… Hey, have either of you ever tried frozen tofu?”
When both men shook their heads, Xie Yuechan felt a surge of pride. She put on a mock-pitying tone and sighed, “Oh, what a tragedy for you both.”
Frozen tofu developed a honeycomb structure inside, acting like a tireless sponge that soaked up every drop of spicy, numbing, scalding broth. Like a master chef, she intentionally left them with a cliffhanger, leaving her two diners to spend the night wondering.
What exactly is frozen tofu? And what does it taste like?
After the meal, Xie Yuechan dragged Gu Changsheng off to stroll through the garden to aid digestion. Gu Jingan returned to his study to read, but he didn’t emerge until the lights in the main house had gone out.
He had eaten far too much. Xie Yuechan and Gu Changsheng had been eating so fast that, by the end, it was impossible to tell whose ingredients were whose. He felt that if he didn’t move his chopsticks quickly, there would be nothing left but scraps.
It had been a long time since he had “fought” for food like that. The moment he saw a meatball he’d been eyeing get snatched away, he became competitive. Before he knew it, he was stuffed.
In truth, he was even fuller than Xie Yuechan, but he was too embarrassed to let her see it, lest she think him a man of poor self-control. And so, he sat in his study for two hours, unable to process a single word on the page, waiting until she was asleep before he dared to creep out and walk off the meal.
It wasn’t until the fourth watch of the night that Gu Jingan finally drifted into a fitful sleep. Predictably, he woke up late the next morning—and today was no ordinary day at the office.
The Crown Prince and officials from the Eastern Palace were scheduled to visit the Imperial Academy for an inspection. They were there to evaluate the academic fervor of the students and the teaching standards of the professors and doctors. It was a high-stakes day of optics and duty.
With no time for a proper breakfast at home, Gu Jingan hurriedly threw on his official robes and broke into a light jog toward the gates.
“Master, please! Eat something before you go! You still have time!” Chengyu, his personal valet, shouted as he scrambled to keep up.
Gu Jingan adjusted his hem as he hurried along, tucking a stray bit of inner lining back into his sleeve without breaking stride. “No.”
“If you don’t eat now, you won’t have a chance until lunch! With the Crown Prince visiting the Academy, you’ll be stuck by his side all day. There’s no telling when they’ll serve the midday meal—you can’t go hungry!” Chengyu continued to fret, his nagging becoming a constant hum in Gu Jingan’s ear.
Gu Jingan knew that if he didn’t respond, Chengyu would inevitably bring up that infamous incident from when he was six years old, when he had fainted during morning lessons from sheer hunger.
“I heard you,” he snapped impatiently. “I’ll pick up a sesame cake on the way.”
The commotion of their frantic departure drew Xie Yuechan out from the side wing. She watched the chaos with the gleeful interest of someone who had nothing but time.
“A sesame cake? You’re going to eat a street cake? Wait—did you actually oversleep?”
Gu Jingan turned around to see her holding a massive, flat guokui—a crispy, stuffed flatbread—in each hand. They were larger than her face and steaming hot. Behind her, her maids each held one as well. Among them, Gu Jingan spotted a very familiar figure.
Is that Linglong? he wondered, squinting. Since when had his own top maid started spending her mornings in Xie Yuechan’s quarters?
But he had no time to interrogate the staff.
“I was simply… weighed down by last night’s meal,” Gu Jingan attempted to explain, his dignity under siege. “I am not one to indulge in laziness.”
He tried to make it clear that they were not the same, but his defense only earned him a look of deep, knowing amusement from her.
Truthfully, Xie Yuechan wouldn’t have been up this early either if it weren’t for the lure of the guokui. Seeing Gu Jingan in such a rush, she gave him a look of genuine pity. She knew his “straight-A student” personality well enough to know he would gladly sacrifice his stomach to ensure he wasn’t a minute late for work.
“Tsk… how pitiful,” she murmured.
Gu Jingan didn’t have time to ask what was so pitiful about him. Before he could speak, she briskly stepped forward and shoved the untouched guokui from her right hand into his arms.
“Forget the sesame cake. Have a guokui instead. I haven’t touched this one yet. Here!”
Gu Jingan opened his mouth to decline, but she cut him off with a pointed warning. “If you waste any more time being polite, you’re actually going to be late.”
He realized with a jolt that it was already the second quarter of the Mao hour. Swallowing his pride, he muttered a quick thanks, tucked the warm flatbread into his sleeve, and practically sprinted away.
Xie Yuechan watched his retreating back with sympathetic eyes. She then turned her attention to the awkward, left-behind Chengyu. “Hey, you want one too?”
Since she had given hers to Gu Jingan, she knew one wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her own cravings anyway. She figured she might as well head back and bake a few more while the coals were still hot.