“Come on, let me take you out for a stroll.”
Zhao Qingyue tugged Bai Shuangshuang out of the Library Pavilion.
“You’ve been cooped up inside all day. I think you’re about to grow mold.”
Bai Shuangshuang shot her a blank look.
“I just got here yesterday.”
“Still stuffy.”
Qingluan was already waiting outside, dressed in a fitted outfit with a sword at her waist.
She followed half a step behind the two, expressionless.
She glanced at the barely concealed smile on her lady’s face, then at Bai Shuangshuang’s expression that screamed ‘I don’t want to’ , and the corner of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
She had grown up with Zhao Qingyue, and aside from Qingyao, she had never seen Zhao Qingyue care this much about anyone.
And Bai Shuangshuang was someone she’d picked up off the streets.
They exited the Prince Jingnan’s Mansion, turned two corners, and the noise of the crowd gradually swelled.
The main street of the Royal City was wide and straight, with shops lining both sides in close succession.
The banners of tea houses and taverns swayed gently in the morning breeze.
A bit further ahead lay the market.
Vendors had already set up their stalls, selling all kinds of goods.
Bai Shuangshuang didn’t say anything, but her eyes were wandering.
In her past life, she had cultivated at the Qingyun Sword Sect.
When she occasionally went down the mountain, it was to exorcise demons and guard the way.
She never had time to browse markets, and even getting her hands on a romance novel meant borrowing it from her junior disciples.
Now, this body was only eighteen or nineteen.
Though she tried to suppress her girlish heart, it kept popping up at the most unexpected moments.
As they passed a sugar painting stall, the old craftsman flicked his wrist, and a phoenix took shape on the stone slab, lifelike.
Bai Shuangshuang took a second look, and Zhao Qingyue immediately stopped.
“Buy it.”
“No need—”
“Give me one.”
The old craftsman cheerfully handed over a butterfly, golden yellow, with every vein on its wings vividly detailed.
Zhao Qingyue took it and shoved it into Bai Shuangshuang’s hand, the motion natural and smooth.
Bai Shuangshuang looked down at the sugar butterfly.
Her lips moved, but in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.
She stuck out the tip of her tongue and gave it a small lick.
The syrup melted on her tongue, sweet.
Zhao Qingyue watched her lick the sugar butterfly, suddenly froze for a moment, her gaze drifting away for a second.
“What’s wrong?”
Bai Shuangshuang caught her stare and looked up.
“Nothing.”
Zhao Qingyue pulled her gaze back and smiled.
“Let’s go~”
Qingluan saw it clearly from behind—her lady was thinking about Qingyao again.
Qingyao had also loved sweets when she was alive.
Every time she licked a candied hawthorn, she looked exactly like Bai Shuangshuang.
A few steps further, they came across a stall with all sorts of curious trinkets.
A bamboo mechanical box with a wooden figure inside that could nod and grind ink.
A palm-sized ceramic tea set, the spout so thin it could fit a needle, and real tea actually flowed out of it.
And small bracelets woven from colored silk thread, delicate and pretty, looking lovely when worn on the wrist.
Bai Shuangshuang’s eyes lingered on those trinkets for a moment, not in amazement, but out of simple curiosity.
These things weren’t really worth much.
In her past life, she could have used a bit of immortal magic to conjure something far more intricate with a wave of her hand.
But the warmth of human craftsmanship was something magic couldn’t replicate.
Zhao Qingyue caught her look.
The corner of her lips curled up.
She didn’t mention buying anything, but deliberately slowed her pace to let Bai Shuangshuang take a longer look.
‘Well, she’s just a little wildcat from a small county. Still pretty easy to coax.’
Qingluan followed behind, taking it all in.
Her face remained impassive, but inside she was immensely amused.
‘Is the lady raising a pet pig? First give it food, then slowly coax it?’
The common folk nearby didn’t share Qingluan’s thoughts.
They were focused on something else.
“Hey, look at that young lady next to the Commandery Princess—”
“I see her, I see her. The fabric of her clothes is even better than the princess’s.”
“Could she be a princess from the capital? Look at her face, like someone out of a painting.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. The Imperial Court doesn’t have good relations with our Southern Region. I think she’s a relative of the Princess Consort…”
The murmuring reached Bai Shuangshuang’s ears.
Her expression didn’t change, but she quickened her pace slightly, wanting to put some distance between herself and Zhao Qingyue.
That way, she wouldn’t attract so much attention.
She wasn’t used to being called “young lady” either.
Zhao Qingyue grabbed her sleeve.
“What are you running for? What’s wrong with letting people look?”
She leaned in, lowering her voice, her tone full of pride.
“What’s wrong with this Commandery Princess’s little cat being pretty?”
Bai Shuangshuang took a deep breath.
“…Don’t you have anything else to do?”
“Yeah, I do. Play with you~”
“Cough, cough—”
Qingluan silently averted her gaze.
Just then, a clanging sound came from ahead, and a crowd had gathered.
Curious, Bai Shuangshuang craned her neck to see.
In the middle of the crowd, in front of a blacksmith shop, a middle-aged man in coarse clothes was squatting on the ground, gesturing with an iron tool to an old blacksmith.
He was saying something like, “Adjust the curve of this plowshare a bit more so it digs deeper into the soil.”
The man was tall and sturdy, with a square face tanned by years of wind and sun.
But his eyes were unusually bright.
His voice was loud when he spoke, and his laugh was hearty, drawing nods from several old farmers around him.
Zhao Qingyue’s steps came to an abrupt halt.
Bai Shuangshuang felt her sleeve get tugged.
It wasn’t the usual teasing tug—it was a guilty tug.
She followed Zhao Qingyue’s gaze and was momentarily confused.
“Dad?”
Zhao Qingyue’s voice sounded a bit unsteady.
The middle-aged man looked up at the sound.
Seeing his daughter standing outside the crowd with an unfamiliar girl beside him, he was taken aback for a second, then broke into a grin, showing a row of white teeth.
“Oh, Qingyue?”
He patted the iron filings off his hands, stood up, and gave his daughter a once-over.
“What brings you out for a stroll on the streets today?”
Bai Shuangshuang finally realized.
‘This is the Prince of Jingnan? The Prince of Jingnan, Zhao Qingchuan, who rules over three prefectures in the Southern Region?!’
She couldn’t help but take a closer look.
Short jacket, cloth shoes, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, with traces of oil grime still on his fingers.
With this outfit, he didn’t even look like a prince—even the steward at the Bai Mansion wouldn’t dress like this.
“I’m… taking someone out for a stroll.”
Zhao Qingyue was unusually flustered.
She cleared her throat and pushed Bai Shuangshuang half a step forward.
“This is Shuangshuang~”
Zhao Qingchuan’s gaze landed on Bai Shuangshuang.
He sized her up for a moment and nodded slightly.
“Which noble family does this young lady belong to? She has an extraordinary aura.”
“She’s not from any noble family.”
Zhao Qingyue answered before Bai Shuangshuang could speak, her tone suddenly becoming a bit odd.
“She’s a little maidservant I picked up on the street…”
“…”
Zhao Qingchuan was stunned for a moment, then let out a dry laugh.
He didn’t press further, nor did he show any displeasure.
“Alright, as long as you’re happy, I’ll get back to work.”
With that, he turned around, squatted down again, and continued discussing the curve of the plowshare with the old blacksmith.
Bai Shuangshuang stood there, watching the figure hunched in front of the blacksmith shop.
A strange feeling stirred in her heart.
In her past life at the Qingyun Sword Sect, she had seen plenty of high officials and nobles from the mortal world.
Those people cared about pomp and circumstance, surrounded by attendants wherever they went, and wouldn’t even drink tea without a poison tester.
But this prince—nowhere to be found in his mansion, but right here in the marketplace, mingling with craftsmen and farmers, discussing how to forge a plowshare.
“Let’s go, let’s go~”
Zhao Qingyue tugged her forward.
The tips of her ears still held a faint trace of red, and she muttered under her breath.
“My dad’s just like that. Don’t mind him.”
Lady Zhao was a little embarrassed.
Not that she was ashamed of her father, but she had worked so hard to put on a front in front of her little wildcat, and seeing her dad had shattered it all.
Bai Shuangshuang looked at her.
“Your face is red.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Your ears are red.”
“You’re seeing things.”
“You look just like me when you’re being stubborn.”
“…Bai Shuangshuang, why are you so talkative today?”
“I’m pretty talkative every day, aren’t I?”
Qingluan followed behind.
She couldn’t hold it in anymore, and the corner of her mouth curled up high.
They walked around for a while longer, then Zhao Qingyue suddenly stopped and turned to Qingluan.
“Sister Qingluan, go to that tea house over there and buy me a pack of osmanthus cake—the one Liu Fei brought back last time.”
Qingluan looked at her, then at Bai Shuangshuang, hesitating for a moment.
“Go. Are you afraid that if you leave, she’ll bite me to death?”
Zhao Qingyue urged.
Qingluan finally turned and left.
Zhao Qingyue immediately grabbed Bai Shuangshuang’s wrist and ducked into a small alley after a few twists and turns.
At the end was a small sugar water stall, with a few low tables and bamboo stools, exuding a cool, sweet fragrance.
“This stall’s iced osmanthus jelly is the best in the entire Royal City.”
Zhao Qingyue pushed her onto a bamboo stool and called out to the vendor with practiced ease.
“Two bowls of jelly, extra ice!”
Bai Shuangshuang looked down at the bowl of jelly in front of her.
Amber-colored syrup was dotted with fine osmanthus flowers, and a few pieces of crushed ice floated at the edge.
A cool, refreshing scent wafted up.
She scooped up a spoonful and brought it to her lips.
It was icy and sweet, with the fragrance of osmanthus melting on her tongue—a taste she had never experienced before.
Zhao Qingyue rested her chin on her hand and watched her, a curve on her lips.
“How is it?”
Bai Shuangshuang didn’t answer.
She took another spoonful.
Zhao Qingyue smiled.
That smile was free of her usual mischief and calculation—pure, as if at this moment she was truly just a young girl out having fun with a friend.
Bai Shuangshuang ate a third spoonful.
Whether it was from the cold of the jelly or from those eyes watching her, the corner of her mouth, which had been hanging down, finally lifted just a little.
It was fleeting, but Zhao Qingyue saw it.
But before Lady Zhao could savor her triumph, her expression suddenly changed.
It was a change so fast that it was almost impossible to react in time.
Zhao Qingyue’s face went from rosy to pale, as if something had been violently drained from within her.
Her whole body went rigid.
Her hand loosened, and the porcelain spoon fell into the bowl with a crisp clink.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Bai Shuangshuang was startled.
Zhao Qingyue didn’t answer.
Her hands gripped the edge of the table tightly, her knuckles turning white.
In just a few breaths, all color drained from her lips.
She began to tremble slightly, as if countless ice needles were running through her body.
Bai Shuangshuang froze, at a loss for what to do.
“Milady!”
Qingluan’s voice came from the entrance of the alley.
She was still holding the pack of osmanthus cake, but her face had gone pale.
In an instant, she rushed to Zhao Qingyue’s side and caught her faltering body.
“I knew it! You sent me away just so you could secretly eat ice, didn’t you? Your old ailment has flared up again.”
Qingluan spoke rapidly, her usual composure gone.
Bai Shuangshuang snapped out of it and stepped forward to support Zhao Qingyue’s other arm.
It was ice-cold to the touch.
The girl who had been teasing her and smiling over the iced jelly just moments ago now had not a shred of warmth left in her body, like a piece of ice clutched in a hand.
Bai Shuangshuang lowered her head.
Together with Qingluan, she helped Zhao Qingyue walk quickly back toward the mansion.
Her lips were pressed into a thin line.
She didn’t say a word, but the hand holding Zhao Qingyue’s arm unconsciously tightened its grip…
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