Though it was early morning, the city of Bianjing was already thrumming with life. Pedestrians with baskets strapped to their backs lingered before market stalls, their haggling lost in a cacophony of street cries and boisterous chatter.
Gu Jingan rarely left the house this late, and for the first time, he found himself witnessing the raw, vibrant pulse of the morning world. Calculating the distance to the Academy, he realized he had just enough time. He loosened his grip on the reins and pulled the oil-paper-wrapped guokui from his robes. He took a decisive bite.
The one Xie Yuechan had given him was stuffed with shepherd’s purse and pork.
The crust was crisp on the outside and tender within. The shepherd’s purse, toasted by the heat of the oven, released a fragrant, grassy aroma—slightly earthy and refreshing, but not bitter. The savory fats from the minced pork, a perfect blend of lean and fatty meat, had melted into the greens, balancing the wild taste of the vegetables with a rich, lingering savoriness.
“Anshi!”
A voice called out to him over the din of the market.
Gu Jingan looked back. The road was a slow-moving stream of horses and carriages, mostly officials heading to their posts. Occasionally, colleagues would spot each other and exchange loud greetings from their saddles, their voices quickly swallowed by the shouts of vendors as they kept their horses moving forward.
Amidst this leisurely scene, a young man in crimson robes came galloping up in a hurry, clearly terrified of being left behind.
It was Kui Yu—the same young man Xie Yuechan had glimpsed through the carriage window on her return trip to her family home, the one who had been so preoccupied with his mutton soup.
Kui Yu spotted the half-eaten flatbread in Gu Jingan’s hand and grinned. “You overslept too?”
Today was a true rarity. Seeing Gu Jingan late was practically a miracle; the man was usually the first to arrive at the Academy. To see him cutting it this close was a sight to behold.
Kui Yu served alongside him at the Imperial Academy. In fact, when Gu Jingan had first started his post, it was Kui Yu who had shown him the ropes. The two had known each other since childhood. Gu Jingan had always been a cool, detached soul. Despite his stellar reputation, other children his age used to find him far too solemn and old-fashioned. Only Kui Yu had the persistence to keep trailing after him, never bothered by Gu Jingan’s frosty exterior.
If Gu Jingan were to count his true childhood friends, Kui Yu was the only name on the list. However, Kui Yu’s boisterous nature and flamboyant way of doing things often gave Gu Jingan a headache.
Seeing that yet another person had misunderstood the reason for his delay, Gu Jingan realized that explaining himself was a lost cause. He chose silence.
Kui Yu didn’t press him. Instead, he pulled out a duck-meat sesame cake he’d just bought at the end of an alley and started munching. Within seconds, his lips were slick with oil.
Crunch—
The sound of Gu Jingan’s exceptionally crispy bite made Kui Yu turn his head. “Where’d you buy that? None of our usual stalls sell anything that looks like that.”
“It’s not bought,” Gu Jingan explained before taking another bite. “I brought it from home.”
The peaches and plums in the city worry about the wind and rain, but spring lives in the shepherd’s purse flowers by the stream. In the distance, the mountains—nourished by the summer rains—loomed dark and lush through the morning mist. Gu Jingan wondered where on earth Xie Yuechan had found such tender shepherd’s purse, considering the Dragon Boat Festival had already passed.
Kui Yu’s eyes shimmered with envy. “The chefs at the Gu manor really are something else—so many new tricks. My mother is always nagging me, saying the food outside is dirty and that I should eat breakfast at home before I leave. But our cook’s repertoire is so boring I’ve been sick of it for years.”
With that, he finished off the rest of his duck cake in two or three gulps, smacking his lips in complaint. “This thing is just too greasy. And they raised the price by two wen this morning!”
Even so, that stall was the most popular one in the alley; the others were far worse.
The two friends continued their idle chatter as they finished their breakfast. Once the crumbs were gone, they flicked their reins and rode side-by-side toward the Imperial Academy.
Xie Yuechan was nestled comfortably in Falling Snow Abode. Since the Old Matriarch had made it clear she had no desire to see her, Yuechan was conveniently excused from the grueling ritual of morning and evening formal greetings. Her days had devolved into a blissful cycle of eating and sleeping.
Having satisfied her craving for guokui that morning, she spent the afternoon with her sleeves rolled up, shut away in her room, sketching and scribbling with manic intensity.
Later that day, Jitao was startled by a series of unintelligible shouts from the courtyard. She looked up to see her mistress charging toward her, waving a draft of a diagram that only the creator could possibly decipher. Yuechan was beaming, her eyes dancing with excitement.
“Jitao, I’ve done it! I’ve finally drawn it out!”
She shoved the manuscript into Jitao’s startled hands. “Go out and find some masons. Show them this design and ask if they can build it. I want a proper oven!”
With a functioning oven, she realized she could finally enjoy all the Western-style breads and cakes she had been missing.
It took two days to construct the semi-circular brick oven in the southeast corner of the courtyard. Servants passing by peered in with curiosity, having never seen such a strange contraption. In the days that followed, an intoxicating, rich aroma began to waft from the kiln—a scent so unfamiliar and alluring that the staff found it nearly impossible to focus on their chores.
As night fell and the silver moon hung high in the sky, Xie Yuechan dragged a grand armchair out to the courtyard. She reclined lazily beneath a wall draped in climbing roses, a pot of milk and several golden-brown dorayaki cakes set within arm’s reach.
The milk had been boiled with sugar and then chilled until it was icy and sweet.
Having mastered the oven’s temperature, Yuechan found baking small treats to be second nature. Today’s sponge was impossibly fluffy, sandwiched with a filling of fresh cream and seasonal fruits. One bite brought a rush of sweet, velvety texture. No wonder Doraemon loves these things so much, she mused.
As a devoted practitioner of hedonism, Xie Yuechan felt such joy shouldn’t be kept to herself. She had already sent portions over to the first and second households, as well as to young Gu Changsheng. As for her two sisters-in-law, they had been summoned to the palace by Consort Gu to keep her company and hadn’t returned yet. It saved her the trouble of her kindness being rebuffed; she suspected the young Gu Qinli wouldn’t have accepted them anyway.
The armchair creaked softly as it rocked. The rose vines climbed high, claiming the entire surface of the wall. The summer blooms—reds, whites, and pinks—were scattered in a vibrant, chaotic display. Gu Jingan’s courtyard lacked the usual army of maids to tend it, and since Yuechan hadn’t bothered to prune anything since her arrival, the space had taken on an unexpectedly charming, wild air.
The summer night breeze was light, carrying a faint, drifting fragrance.
Yuechan’s mind was already wandering to tomorrow. Perhaps she would pluck the best roses to brew floral wine, or maybe bake them into flower cakes. And over there, under the wisteria trellis, she would have a swing built before next spring. She could spend the afternoons swinging amidst the blossoms.
She took a small bite of a dorayaki—this one filled with red bean paste. The sweet, powdery flavor bloomed across her palate.
Lost in her daydreams, she didn’t notice the silhouette approaching along the covered walkway until the sharp-eyed Jitao spotted him.
“Oh! The Master is back!”
Since the Crown Prince had offered his “constructive feedback” to the Academy two days ago, Gu Jingan had been busy as a whirlwind. Though they lived under the same roof, they had barely caught a glimpse of each other.
By the time the drifting Xie Yuechan heard the greeting and moved to rise, Gu Jingan was already standing beside her. She brushed the crumbs off her lap and, deciding she was too comfortable to bother standing, offered him a sideways glance and a casual wave.
“Finished work this late? Did you already eat out with your colleagues?”
He carried the faint scent of wine. His face was a mask of cool detachment, his expression so frosty it usually made people lower their voices in his presence.
Xie Yuechan, however, remained entirely unfazed. She gestured toward the plate. “Want a dorayaki? They’re fresh out of the oven. I’ve got peach and mango—take whichever flavor you like.”
“Thank you,” he replied.
As Gu Jingan accepted, he watched her quietly. He couldn’t help but recall the drunken accusations of a certain young scholar at the banquet tonight, and the profound, tragic pity the man had expressed upon hearing that Gu Jingan had married Xie Yuechan.