Chapter 51#

Pei Dan stood rigidly in the rain, several strands of hair clinging to his temples, his newly changed clothes already soaked through again. Feng Bing didn’t know what stubborn idea he’d latched onto this time, but being stared at with such an expression made him feel ill at ease as well. He turned around, picked up the umbrella by the door, opened it, and walked through the puddles to Pei Dan’s side.#

Step by step, he crushed the reflection of light pooling in the courtyard. Pei Dan lowered his gaze to it—it seemed to dance around Feng Bing’s feet like moths around a flame.

“…” Feng Bing paused. “Playing the drowned dog, are we? Come inside first.”

So saying, he turned and walked off. Pei Dan had no choice but to follow closely, shrinking his figure beneath the green bamboo-colored umbrella. Feng Bing’s clothes and hair both carried a dry herbal scent, a far cry from him—soaked and reeking.

They returned to the hall. Feng Bing closed the umbrella and instructed Chunshi to bring another set of bowls and chopsticks. Pei Dan’s cloak dripped steadily onto the floor. Feng Bing couldn’t bear to look at it and tapped the table with his finger. “Take the cloak off.”

Pei Dan silently removed his cloak, and Feng Bing took it to hand to Chunshi. Seeing that the young master seemed inclined to invite Prime Minister Pei to stay for a meal, Chunshi tactfully excused himself first, dismissing all the other servants along the way.

Tonight’s dishes had been simple to begin with, but aside from the vegetables, there happened to be a pot of piping-hot noodle soup prepared against the cold. Feng Bing ladled out a bowl and pushed it toward Pei Dan. Pei Dan’s stomach growled, but he felt embarrassed, glancing at Feng Bing, who was already eating.

Pei Dan said softly, “I’m imposing on you.”

Feng Bing took a small sip of soup, looked up at him sideways, and couldn’t hold back a sudden laugh. “I thought you’d come to hold me accountable. Turns out you only came to scrounge a meal.”

“Neither,” Pei Dan said awkwardly. “Today I… I got into a fight with Chen Qiu.”

At Chen Qiu’s name, Feng Bing’s expression stiffened slightly. Pei Dan’s fingers traced the rim of the bowl—it was an old porcelain bowl he’d used for years, still bearing a crack he recognized. The noodle soup steamed fragrantly, and though warming, if one lingered too long, it would scald the fingers.

No, he shouldn’t have brought this up. Too humiliating—it made him seem like nothing more than a childish brat still swinging his fists. Pei Dan lowered his head in cover up and took a few bites of soup before speaking. “About his affairs, you needn’t think about it anymore. I’ll handle it cleanly. However,” he frowned slightly, “if the Emperor comes looking for you again, just decline—say you’re not involved in court matters and know nothing about it.”

Feng Bing said in a low voice, “I’ve heard the Emperor wants you to rest for a while.”

“Mm. I committed the fault myself—I’ll bear the consequences. Perhaps I’ll get to be idle soon.” Despite this, Pei Dan managed a smile, as if to ease the atmosphere. The soup was piping hot; eating it made his body flush, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

“Could there be other risks?” Feng Bing pressed.

“What?” Pei Dan turned to look at him, smiling. “Are you afraid I’ll implicate you?”

“…No.” Feng Bing bit down on his chopsticks, averting his gaze. “I was just thinking—if you’re no longer Prime Minister Pei, what should I call you?”

“Anything’s fine,” Pei Dan said quietly. “You can use my name too.”

The rain pattered on, yet it seemed no longer able to interrupt the murmured conversation between the two in the hall. The noodle soup settled in their stomachs, and a gentle warmth flowed into their limbs. The two sat across from each other, the candle on the table burning with a quiet flame, trailing a thin wisp of smoke upward that struck the beam and scattered in alarm.

Pei Dan turned his head. Directly above the incense table in the center of the hall sat a shrine enshrining a Bodhisattva. Beside the incense burner below it, there was a sprig of red plum blossom inserted diagonally into a vase.

He said, “In the Ministry of Rites, there is also a vase of plum blossoms just like this one.”

Feng Bing looked over as well and said lightly, “That sprig was picked by Chunshi from the back gate of your house.”

“Ah, that place.” Pei Dan thought for a moment. “Seems like seeds fell there years ago. Don’t know why, but they’ve grown into a whole grove. I once considered tearing down the wall to enclose that plum grove—good thing I didn’t. Otherwise—”

Otherwise, he would never have been able to quietly install Feng Bing in this small residence without anyone noticing.

Though he stopped short, Feng Bing understood. He let out a soft, scoffing laugh. “Shameless—those flowers grew on their own, and you still want them to carry the Pei surname.”

Pei Dan laughed in full agreement. “Yes, I’m shameless.”

The lamplight flickered gently. A drop of candle wax dripped into the silver dish. Pei Dan finished his entire bowl of noodles, and his whole body felt refreshed. Compared to the cold, lonely, drowned-dog state of moments before, it was truly the difference between heaven and earth. Feng Bing had intended to clear the dishes, but Pei Dan stood up of his own accord. Feng Bing stopped in surprise.

Pei Dan said, “I’ll do it.”

Feng Bing said, “Mm-hmm.”

Pei Dan genuinely carried the bowls and chopsticks through the corridor and into the kitchen. Chunshi had been huddled in the kitchen eating his own meal. Seeing the two walk in, he jumped up in fright—and Pei Dan was startled right back, the dishes rattling in his hands. Feng Bing hurried forward to steady them, then shot Pei Dan a glare.

Pei Dan cursed himself inwardly and carefully set everything down. Chunshi, quick and deft with his hands, promptly threw them all into the large pot, ladled in water, and began scrubbing. Pei Dan still didn’t leave; he just stood off to the side, looking blank.

Feng Bing found it genuinely amusing. “Prime Minister Pei, are you thinking of learning to wash dishes? In all these years, I’ve never seen you show such initiative.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized they were inappropriate. Chunshi’s clattering of bowls filled the gap just in time, mingling with the rain outside as it washed over them. Feng Bing hastily turned away and walked to the other corner of the kitchen to pick up the medicine.

But he forgot to use a towel. His palm went straight for the medicine pot, and he let out a sharp cry as it scalded him. Pei Dan instinctively stepped forward, cupped his hand, and blew on it. A red mark quickly appeared on the thenar eminence of his palm, then swelled into a tiny blister.

Pei Dan hurriedly told Chunshi to bring a basin of cold water and pressed Feng Bing’s hand into it to soak. Feng Bing murmured, “It’s nothing. It’ll be fine on its own after a while.”

Pei Dan stared at the cold water, responded with a sluggish “Mm,” and withdrew his hand. While Feng Bing soaked his wound, he carried the medicine pot to the stovetop himself, ladled out a cup, and asked, “Shall we go outside to drink the medicine, or drink it here?”

Pei Dan was standing in the way, blocking Feng Bing’s view of Chunshi, but the acutely felt presence of a third person still left him mortified. “Outside,” he said quietly.

After the two walked out one after the other, Chunshi finally let out a long, long breath of relief.

It had been torturous. If they hadn’t left soon, he’d have scrubbed the porcelain right down to the bisque.