Upon returning, Youli went straight to find the Heir.
At that moment, the Heir was practicing calligraphy in his study.
A long-lasting, mellow sandalwood incense burned in the Boshan censer, and his favorite cloud pine bonsai sat on the flower stand—everything was quiet and harmonious.
Youli entered with light steps and curtsied. ”Heir…”
The Heir wore a dark robe patterned with green bamboo, his ink-black hair like satin. The dappled shadows of trees outside the window fell upon him, making him look like a deity.
Youli went up to grind the ink for him, her sweet, soft voice barely above a whisper, afraid of disturbing his refined mood. ”Heir, just now…”
Before she could finish, the Heir, without even lifting his eyelids, gently interrupted her. “Go brew a new pot of pre-Qingming Longjing tea!”
Youli noticed the teapot set beside the desk and went to look at it, her brow furrowing involuntarily.
Before going to see the Marchioness, she had instructed Qiu Shuang to brew a pot of the Heir’s favorite pre-Qingming Longjing, and had even given her detailed instructions, yet mistakes had still been made…
The Heir was extremely particular about his food and daily comforts, and especially fastidious about the tea he drank every day.
If the tea was not brewed to his liking, he would rather pour it out than drink another sip.
For a pot of pre-Qingming Longjing like this, generally each cup required about three qian of tea leaves, while a whole pot needed roughly eight qian—an amount that allowed the leaves to fully release their aroma and flavor in the water.
But clearly, Qiu Shuang had used too much.
Moreover, the water temperature also mattered.
Since Longjing tea is picked from tender young buds and leaves, the water must not be too hot, lest it ruin the tea’s flavor. One must first boil the water, then wait a while for it to cool to the proper temperature before brewing…
She touched the teacup—it was clearly too cold. Qiu Shuang lacked experience and didn’t know to keep adding hot water.
Youli had no choice but to go brew the Heir a fresh pot of hot tea.
Outside, Qiu Shuang, serving the Heir for the first time, felt immense pressure from his unreadable expression. “Sister Youli, the Heir always keeps a straight face and says nothing, so I don’t even know what I did wrong…”
She was on the verge of tears.
“You’ve only just started serving him, so of course there’s much you don’t know. Just follow me from now on and learn slowly.”
Youli didn’t blame her at all, and was willing to patiently teach her.
All these details she had learned by watching others serve in the Old Madame’s courtyard and secretly picking things up.
Otherwise, how could a little maid like her have learned such skills?
From a young age, she had known that nothing was more important than mastering a few crafts.
Lv Liu and Hong Tao always wondered how she had managed to become a First-class Senior Maid at the Heir’s side.
The truth was that she quietly brewed an excellent pot of tea, and the embroidery she made for the Heir was never rejected. The accumulation of such details made the Heir unusually tolerant toward her, and he relied on her more and more.
Only, he was reserved by nature—whether satisfied or dissatisfied, he never said so easily, which always left others guessing. But after two years of carefully reading his moods, Youli could more or less divine what the Heir was thinking.
Youli brewed a fresh pot of pre-Qingming Longjing—the amount of tea leaves precise, the temperature just right. The Heir drained a cup in one gulp and set it down; Youli promptly refilled it, and he drained it again…
Clearly, he had been thirsty.
Youli grumbled inwardly: if he was thirsty, couldn’t he have just made do with what there was? Did he really have to wait for her to brew a new pot?
But of course, she wouldn’t dare find fault with the Heir.
Seeing that the Heir had no intention of questioning her, Youli voluntarily explained where she had just been. “The Marchioness summoned this slave-servant for a talk just now.”
Only then did he speak, asking mildly, “What did she say?”
“The Marchioness rewarded this slave-servant with a red plum blossom hairpin of gold filigree and openwork beads, and she also asked after your health, instructing this slave-servant to report to her in the future about matters concerning you…” Youli had spent many years in the Marquis’s Estate. Though she had no wish to be drawn into the undercurrents of intrigue, she knew how to watch and listen, and she had a way with words—able to make things clear without easily offending anyone.
Protecting oneself wisely was, after all, an essential skill for a competent maidservant.
Now she faced a choice between the Marchioness and the Heir.
Should she be the Marchioness’s spy, or the Heir’s loyal slave-servant?
In her heart, Youli firmly chose the Heir.
It wasn’t entirely because she had given herself to him.
She had been at the Heir’s side for two years, and life had been quite comfortable. This year she had even been promoted to first-rank maidservant.
The Heir had shown her the grace of a second life.
And Hong Tao’s fate had served as a warning to her.
Those who schemed in front of the Heir came to no good end.
A rare flicker of a smile crossed the Heir’s cold, aloof face. “You’re quite clever.”
“This slave-servant already belongs to the Heir, and will serve him for lifetime after lifetime,” Youli declared her loyalty first.
In truth, she had no great ambitions—she only wanted to quietly do her embroidery in the embroidery room.
Beyond embroidering for the Heir, she could also have her extra pieces sent out to sell through someone, earning a little income.
She truly didn’t want to get caught up in all this open and hidden strife.
But now it was no longer up to her.
“Write this character,” the Heir said, handing her the rabbit-hair brush.
“This slave-servant’s handwriting isn’t pretty,” Youli said, lowering her head.
“How could my slave-servant write poorly?” The Heir guided Youli’s hand across the rice paper, stroke by stroke, writing the character “You.”
Though the Heir was rather lenient with her in many matters, when it came to reading and writing, he was exceptionally strict with her.
The raps on the palm, the copying punishments—those were no idle threats. He would check her characters one by one, and if one was poorly written, she had to write it ten more times.
In truth, she treasured this hard-won opportunity to learn, but she worried that standing out too much would invite resentment, so every time she turned in her work, she deliberately filled it with errors and omissions. Even so, the Heir had always been patient with her.
Just like now, as the Heir held her hand and wrote the character “Li.” He always carried a faint scent of ink, mingled with the agarwood in the room—utterly pleasant. When his soft breathing fell by her ear, Youli’s ears grew hot as if filled with blood.
How could Youli still remember what character she was writing? She was so nervous her palms kept sweating.
He released her hand. “The poem I taught you last time—write it out for me to see.”
Youli: “…”
The Heir added, “If you can’t write it, it’s raps on the palm…”
Youli could only steel herself and bend over the desk to write.
She did remember it; it was just that her handwriting was somewhat embarrassing to show the Heir.
Youli tried her hardest to write beautifully, stroke by stroke, writing with exceptional care.
This paper was no cheap thing—Chengxintang paper, bestowed from the palace, worth a hundred gold!
In private, she did practice writing with a cheap goat-hair brush, but compared to the Heir’s flowing, vigorous script, hers fell far short—like a child’s writing set beside an adult’s.
But this was the best she could do for now. When she finished, she respectfully presented it to the Heir.
The Heir lowered his eyes to take a look.
Youli’s eyes were full of expectation. This time, she hadn’t deliberately written any characters wrong.
The Heir should praise her!
At that thought, she felt a little thrill of excitement!
The Heir set down the paper and looked at her coolly. “Hold out your hand.”
In that moment, Youli quietly shattered inside.
Even this would earn her a smack on the palm?
Sigh, even after becoming a Bedchamber Maid, she still had to suffer like this.
What a sin!!