Gu Jing’an’s lips thinned into a hard, straight line. He attempted to shove the oil-paper parcel toward Cheng Yu. “Here, you eat it.”
“No, no, no, Master!” Cheng Yu’s head shook even faster than his hands. “This was given to you by the Madam. No matter what, I wouldn’t dare take it upon myself to eat your portion!”
Fine.
Gu Jing’an retracted the parcel, his frown deepening until even the stones on the roadside seemed to shrink away from his dark expression. He set his resolve: he would not eat her food today. At most, he would give it to Kui Yu or some other colleague later.
As it happened, Kui Yu was surprised to spot that familiar figure again near the Imperial Street entrance. He waved enthusiastically. “Anshi! Wait for me!”
Gu Jing’an tugged lightly on the reins, and his horse came to an obedient halt. Kui Yu caught up in just a few strides.
“Anshi, I rarely wake up this early, yet here I am running into you! I had no idea you were such an early bird,” Kui Yu remarked, brandishing a mutton flatbread with a boastful grin.
“I got up early specifically for this. I took the long way around just to visit that Liu family stall under Cui Bridge that Boheng recommended yesterday. The taste is truly excellent! What about you? Did you bring something from home again?”
Gu Jing’an lowered his gaze and pulled the oil-paper parcel from his robes, offering it to him. “I’ve already eaten. I brought extra today; would you like to try some?”
“Then I don’t mind if I do.”
Still mounted, Kui Yu reached out a long arm and snatched the parcel. Abandoning his mutton flatbread for the moment, he couldn’t wait to tear open the paper.
“Eh? It’s not flatbread today? These are buns?”
“I suppose,” Gu Jing’an replied vaguely, having not looked himself. “I believe she called them Shengjian buns. I imagine they are pan-fried.”
“Well, alright. I was actually hoping to taste that flatbread you had the other day! I wonder what that flavor was like?”
As his friend’s voice drifted through the wind with a hint of regret, Gu Jing’an’s mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts. Only one idea surfaced clearly: Regardless of the flavor, there probably isn’t anything she makes that tastes bad, right?
He knit his brows. Since when had he started trusting her so implicitly in this regard?
Sure enough, a moment later, Kui Yu let out a series of startled yelps.
“Hot, hot, hot—ah! So hot! Why is this bun like a soup dumpling? It’s splashed all over my robes! I’m finished—Old Man Kong is going to lecture me for sure when he sees this mess!”
Despite his complaints, the slurping of broth and the sound of chewing didn’t stop for a single second.
“I have to say, Anshi, the chefs at the Grand Preceptor’s estate are really something else! Could I send my family cook to your place for a bit of advanced training? Maybe she could learn this craft and improve our daily meals.”
He ate with soup dripping from the corner of his mouth—an utterly unrefined sight—yet the aroma was incredibly fragrant. It wafted across half the street, tickling the tip of Gu Jing’an’s nose.
“Wipe your mouth,” Gu Jing’an said, sounding disgusted.
Yet, his mind was uncontrollably imagining the taste of those buns. From the looks of the filling, there was shrimp and pork; it had to be exceptionally fresh. The bottoms were golden and slightly charred—were they crunchy? And then there were the sesame seeds and scallions…
That’s right, when Kui Yu bit into it just now, the broth had burst out. Like the meatballs he’d had before, the soup was likely scalding enough to numb the tongue, yet it would be the concentrated essence of the meat—rich, savory, and steaming.
Forget it.
Gu Jing’an closed his eyes briefly. He reminded himself that he had made up his mind last night: he would not eat another bite of her food. He forced himself to stop imagining it—and to suppress the mounting urge to demand his food back from Kui Yu.
That evening, after finishing his duties, Gu Jing’an did something he hadn’t done in a long time: he went to the National Academy’s canteen for dinner. He even lingered there on purpose, waiting until the canteen had closed before finally heading home under the moonlight.
He was doing this specifically to avoid Xie Yuechan. If he returned at his usual time, he would likely run into her tinkering with dinner in the small kitchen. Then, she would see him, beam with joy, and invite him to eat—at which point, he would find it too awkward to refuse.
Enough, he told himself.
He was certain that he would divorce her in three years. Whatever the future held, he had to stop giving her false hope; that was the only way to keep from truly ruining her life.
However, when he returned to Falling Snow Residence, he found the small kitchen cold and deserted. Not a single lamp had been lit in the main courtyard.
He summoned Linglong. “Where is she?”
Linglong looked at him strangely, wondering if her master had worked himself into a stupor at the office. “Sir, the Madam is at Taoran Pavilion serving the Master and the Old Lady for dinner. Afterward, she has to accompany the Old Lady in Buddhist prayers for half an hour before she can return.”
Ah. He had forgotten.
Gu Jing’an nodded, glancing sideways at the pitch-black courtyard. To his surprise, he found he wasn’t used to the silence.
He retreated to his study. Perhaps because there was no one in the next room to distract him with their noise, he finished all the reading he had been procrastinating on in just half an hour.
He checked the sky and called for Linglong again. “Has the Madam… still not returned?”
“Not yet, Sir.”
“I see. You may go.”
He didn’t actually have any business with her. It was just…
Less than fifteen minutes later, he finally stood up and took a lantern in hand. “I am going to find my father to discuss some matters,” he instructed Linglong. “Stay here. If the Madam returns, do not tell her I asked about her whereabouts. I wouldn’t want her thinking I have business with her and waiting up for me.”
The summer night was crisp, the garden filled with the heavy scent of flowers and the unending chorus of cicadas and frogs. He carried his lantern, pacing slowly until he reached the outskirts of Taoran Pavilion. There he stood, maintaining a composed posture so no one would detect his underlying anxiety.
The house was brightly lit.
Truthfully, he had nothing urgent to discuss with Grand Preceptor Gu. He had simply recalled Linglong’s words from the day before; seeing that Xie Yuechan had been gone so long, a seed of worry had taken root in his heart.
Mother wouldn’t actually make things difficult for her, would she?
Gu Jing’an reflected on his relationship with his mother. As he had grown older, their interactions had dwindled. He had become a man who required neither maternal worry nor correction. His younger brother, Changsheng, was frail, so their mother’s focus was entirely on his health. His two sisters were girls; he treated them with brotherly affection but never scrutinized their lives too closely.
In his memory, it was his second brother and sister-in-law who occupied most of his mother’s concern—and her temper.
What was Mother like when she was truly angry?
He thought for a long while, only vaguely remembering that as a child, he had been terrified of her temper. When she was angry, the wooden ruler would come out. Ten strokes on the palm, ten on the back of the hand. His mother never showed pity, and she never held back.
At the thought, he extended his free hand to inspect it. This was his right hand; years of gripping a brush had built up thick calluses, and the second joint of his middle finger was slightly misshapen from the constant pressure of writing.
Xie Yuechan’s hands… Gu Jing’an tried to recall them, only to find they appeared in his mind with startling clarity.
Her hands were slender and porcelain-white. Most people couldn’t achieve that level of softness even with meticulous care. They were clearly the hands of someone who had never held a brush or a needle. It was almost incongruous that such hands could produce so much food. He had never looked closely at a professional chef’s hands, but he knew they didn’t look like hers.
Could hands like those withstand Mother’s ruler?
As he neared the entrance of Taoran Pavilion, the servants on duty recognized him immediately.
“Third Young Master!”
“The Third Young Master is here!”
“Quickly, inform the Master and the Old Lady!”
The bamboo curtain rustled open, and Nanny Xu—his mother’s trusted attendant—came out to greet him. “Why has the Third Young Master come at this hour? Have you not eaten yet? It’s perfect timing; the Madam is currently dining with the Master and the Old Lady. Do come in and join them.”