Chapter 141: Pastries

That day the weather was mild—sun outside just right—in Shen mansion East Court Chen Ruoqiu sat chatting with Shen Yue.
These days Chen had begun choosing a husband for Yue—they quarreled several times—yet gentle Chen showed extreme hardness for the first time—Yue had no choice—cold face following Chen to calls—mother and daughter grew estranged.
Today sitting peacefully together was rare.
"I hear Shen Miao was kidnapped—still no news." Yue picked a fruit from the plate—ate—schadenfreude showing. "Wonder if she's still alive?"
Chen frowned. She wanted Yue trained unruffled—at least outwardly gentle and elegant—yet Yue lacked Chen's youth steadiness. Outside fine—in the room every mood showed—Chen worried.
"Who would kidnap her?" Yue mused. "Uncle has many enemies in Ding—who moved this time?"
"Who dares such risk must hate her deeply. Not others—only Shen Miao." Chen said. "Shen army searched days—no trace—hidden well. Shen Miao likely doomed."
Yue first afraid—then thought—smiled. "I'd rather she live." She did not continue.
Kidnapped so long—if alive—unspeakable torment. Rumor wounds most—if dead—all ends—if alive—who knows what ugly tales. Many girls kidnapped and rescued—lived—but could not bear gossip—white silk suicide.
Especially Shen Miao—Great General's legitimate daughter.
Chen glanced at Yue—sighed. "Anyway—her affair. Yue—these days you won't speak to your father—sulk till when?"
If matchmaking made Yue blame Chen—toward Shen Wan she was nearly resentful. Servants said Shen Wan rushed Chen to betroth Yue—Yue blamed Shen Wan—thought he married her early for career—to add marriage tie for third branch. Days without speaking to Shen Wan. Hearing Chen—Yue impatient. "Father is gone all day—how speak?" Turned away petulant—ignored Chen.
Chen paused—Yue was right—perhaps official business busy—even Chen saw Shen Wan less. Once every few days poetry and gentle words—lately Shen Wan distracted.
Chen sighed inwardly—Old Madam pressing concubines—if husband distant—her greatest crisis loomed.
Chen did not know—the "busy official" Shen Wan was playing chess with Chang Zaiqing in West Court.
Zaiqing in bean-green pipa-collar top—goose-yellow palace satin skirt—soft hanging bun—literary and gentle. Her tea was excellent—tea-loving Shen Wan often came for tea—asked chess questions—often came to play and drink.
Zaiqing smiled. "I heard Fifth Miss Shen was taken—found yet?"
"Not yet." Shen Wan shook head.
Zaiqing sighed. "Such a fine girl—such misfortune… Third Master—enemy of General Shen?"
Shen Wan said. "Hard to say—only Fifth Sister taken—but so long—even if rescued—probably…"
Zaiqing looked mournful—inwardly pleased. She did not know why—instinctive dread of Shen Miao—perhaps last talk made her skin crawl—perhaps Shen Miao saw through her. With such a person—Zaiqing was uneasy. Shen Wan's words delighted her.
In Colorful Cloud Court they spoke too.
Wan said. "I thought Dongling never leaving house was bad—now I'm relieved. Street snatchers— you're pretty—if taken I'd cry the rest of my life." She stopped needlework. "Don't know if Fifth Miss lives or dies?"
Dongling holding the embroidery frame laughed. "Aunt—snatchers don't do that openly. Even if—they don't take official girls—especially powerful houses—endless trouble. They targeted Fifth Sister—likely first branch enemies—unlucky for her." She said so—little grief—as if others' business.
Wan sighed. "Fifth Miss's life is ruined—good family birth—no fate to enjoy—wasted luck."
"Not necessarily." Dongling smiled. "Fifth Sister always has noble help—escapes danger—who knows this time?"
"Even with help—now it's this bad—how?" Wan disagreed.
Then Dongling's maid Xinghua hurried in—news to tell.
"Aunt, Third Miss—just heard—Fifth Miss returned by Princess Rongxin's carriage—safe and well!"
"Aunt see—" Dongling smiled—"I said Fifth Sister has great skill—noble help always."
……
Kidnapped Shen Miao had news after days—Princess Rongxin's lady officer escorted her back—Ding stirred again.
Story: kidnappers meant to move her out—Shen soldiers searched too strict—midway Shen Miao escaped—hurt leg—fainted—stumbled into princess guards—sent to princess house—woke—met Princess Rongxin. No news days—because unconscious—princess house did not know her identity—dared not claim wrongly.
In sum—Shen Miao remained clean maiden—fright without stain.
Some doubted—but most believed—speaker was Ming Qi's coldest yet fairest Princess Rongxin. Her word—no problem.
Strange—though word spread—Shen Miao never appeared in public. Some said injury heavy—cannot show—some said Shen family protecting her—lest kidnappers again.
Whatever—she was in deep house—none saw her with own eyes.
Now Shen Miao stood before Luo Ling's room at Shen house.
Luo Tan's words echoed. "Little Cousin—go persuade Cousin Ling—he won't say it—we know he's hard inside. Looks happy—suffering in silence. We're clumsy—don't know comfort. You read so much—understand hearts—he'll listen. In Xiaochun whatever you said he agreed. This time Luo family begs you."
Shen Miao sighed—hesitated—knocked.
"Who?" inside.
"It's me—Cousin Ling."
Silence—then. "Come in."
She entered—bamboo basket in hand—set on desk—green porcelain bowl at corner—brown traces—medicine just drunk.
Luo Ling sat at desk—books open—reading. Face slightly pale—hand bandaged—smiled. "Cousin came."
As Luo eldest grandson among four juniors—Luo Ling was always gentleest and steadiest—true modest gentleman—unlike Pei Lang's hidden selfish cold—Luo Ling truly warmed others.
Hearing Shen Miao safe he was glad—for his right hand he said nothing. Meals and talk still mild—as if nothing happened. He did not speak—others dared not mention—calmer he acted—the more uneasy all felt.
Luo Tan had begged Shen Miao to persuade him.
"I brought pastries." Shen Miao smiled—took plate from basket. "Milk and honey—perhaps good for your injury."
First to say "injury" directly to him.
Luo Ling paused—smiled. "I just took medicine—cannot eat now—leave them—later I'll taste Cousin's craft."
"Cannot eat?" she looked. "Or won't eat?"
His book-holding hand trembled—looked up smiling. "Meaning? Cousin—not angry I didn't eat at once?"
She sat opposite.
Luo Ling reminded her of Wanyu.
Warm tolerant Luo Ling—wronged yet not bitter—same mold as Wanyu. Perhaps knowing Shen Miao unloved by Fu Xiuyi—perhaps knowing palace hardship—Wanyu as imperial princess had no pride. Later Lady Mei pushed Fu to marry Wanyu to the steppe for alliance—Fu used great cause—Shen Miao heartbroken—Wanyu comforted her. "The steppe is fine—I never went—new things I'll write Mother—let you see steppe beauty."
Never mention own pain—smile at those who cared—that was Wanyu—that was Luo Ling.
She said. "Admitting you're not at ease—not let go—feel wronged, angry, bitter—is it so hard?"
Luo Ling paused.
"Cousin Ling seems unwilling to blame anyone." Shen Miao said. "Not blaming others means blaming yourself—yes?"
He stared—suddenly bitter smile. "Cousin—must you be so direct?"
"You are too roundabout." Shen Miao said. "Like your feeling—you won't blame others so you blame yourself. Likewise—you say nothing—is it to make me guilty forever—or never peace on this matter?"
"Ling Cousin—" he said.
"You think acting as if nothing happened eases everyone—ignores your right hand—all happy? No—hidden in heart—you're unhappy—everyone is unhappy." Her voice gentle—words sharp. "Life is short—endure is one way—but sometimes letting go is not bad. Why wrong yourself for others? If unhappy—say it. You may rage, hate, resent—it's not so terrible."
First time hearing such—Luo Ling almost could not accept. He studied her as if new—this little cousin—clear love and hate—young yet grand—seeming mild yet stubborn—this speech renewed her—bones held disdain for worldly ritual—as if kindness and justice were worthless to her.
"Who should I hate? resent? rage at?" he asked.
"You may resent me—I drew the trap on you. Hate the mastermind—they hurt you. Even rage that no Ding doctor can cure your hand—all frauds. The one you must not blame is yourself." Shen Miao said. "Good people blame themselves—bad people blame others—bad live easier. If it makes you lighter—resenting others—what shame?"
Luo Ling laughed. "Little Cousin—comforting me?"
"Yes." she said. "All this—so you don't bury everything."
He sighed. "True—after this—unhappy, uneasy. But Aunt and Uncle already blame themselves—I cannot add weight. Tan worries for me—I cannot make her fret daily. I only blame myself—training not hard enough—got hurt—not clever—easily trapped."
"And now?" she asked.
"Your persuasion is unusual—suits my taste." he teased. "Perhaps you're right—not my fault—the one to hate is not myself."
"Hate and rage are not the end either." Shen Miao said. "If the right hand cannot be used—why not try the left?"
He blanked.
"I heard a general of the former dynasty—brave in war—enemy cut his right hand. World thought he'd sink—he trained the left—created unique 'Left-Hand Sword.'" She smiled lightly. "What does Cousin Ling think?"
Listening—strange light rose in his eyes—unlike before—truly stirred—gaze changed. He looked excited. "Cousin—that story is well told."
"Cousin will do better."
Luo Ling laughed loud—outside eavesdropping Luo Tan jumped—unlike his usual mild smile—even through the door the laugh sounded free.
What did Shen Miao say?
"Is it with such skill you face every hardship calmly—and walk to today's unbeaten ground?" he asked.
She laughed. "Unbeaten—too early."
"So it seems."
She neither confirmed nor denied. Partly right partly not—surviving alone is not enough—if one fell from highest rank to dust overnight—all support gone—no return for sacrifice—house collapsed children dead—all from one stubborn error—you learn nothing matters more than living—live well—one day rise—one day pay back those who hurt.
Luo Ling blamed himself—Shen Miao had blamed herself too—often for past selfishness burying Shen first branch—this life mending the error—fortunately time remained.
She looked at him—smiled. "Cousin Ling won't stay in the study all day from today."
Since his right hand trouble he often read in study—for calm—all knew he wanted alone with gloom.
"Little Cousin spoke herself—how dare I only read." he smiled.
She nodded. "Then I'm relieved."
"Relief is not enough." Luo Ling looked—rare playful blink. "Since this started with Cousin—the pastries must continue."
"Naturally." she said. "When you want them—tell a maid—I'll send."
He stared—girl smiling—clear features—even childlike—yet always extreme calm. Today's words—knowing she came to rouse him—if another he could seal heart and smile—but facing her—direct yet coaxing—like gentle spring river—doing not wholly bright deeds—yet hard to resist.
Like an elder.
The thought startled him—funny—she was sixteen—years younger—sixteen Luo Tan still climbed trees with Luo Qian—however mature—not "elder."
His gaze softened—teased. "If left-hand sword fails too—Cousin won't despise me?"—too forward—strong hint—yet he hoped for an answer from her lips.
She paused—his gaze unlike usual—slight awkwardness.
Setting aside rank—since rebirth she had little thought of marriage—peaceful life—respect enough—love optional—husband never imagined.
But Luo Ling—she sighed—compared to Wanyu—if he became husband—awkward forever. Smiled flat. "Cousin jests—who in this house would despise you?"
She did not answer his question.
Hope in his eyes dimmed—silence—smiled again. "Whatever—thanks for comfort."
"You're welcome." she said. "We're family."
She sat a while—then left. After she left Luo Ling sat—dazed long—sighed—bitter smile—eyes on pastry plate—reached to take.
Suddenly wind outside—the heavy plate clanged to floor—shards everywhere—ink box overturned—ink on pastries—ruined.
He blinked—rose—windows shut—murmured. "Shut so tight—how wind?" Eyes on ink-stained pastries—"Pity."
……
Shen Miao returned—lit lamp—sent Jingzhe and Guyu away—pressed nausea.
Luo Ling was accident—Ming'an so cruel—not only her but Shen Qiu—if not Luo Ling blocking—unknown Qiu's fate—Ming'an more arrogant than past life—mistake deepened hate—reckless—must remove early.
Pity Xie Jingxing intervened.
She did not know his plan—on the way to princess house he said—do not go out—do not be seen. Changchao dead—likely Changwu next.
She thought borrowed blade was good—but Xie Jingxing was no free helper—cunning—help today—tomorrow enormous price—letting him act was not ideal.
Thinking—candle flickered—shadow on screen.
Now she was not even surprised—turned—Xie Jingxing entered as usual.
Why uninvited visits were so open—as if his own garden. She was vexed—he sat at the small table at ease.
Today not usual gold-purple—black brocade—silver collar trim—almost one with night—yet night could not hide his face—peach eyes bright stars—especially sharp today.
"No tea no snacks—" he raised brow—"this is how you treat guests?"
"I don't seem to have invited you."
"Not guest—at least ally—if not ally—" he glanced—slow smile—"savior."
Speechless—he named himself savior—what could she say—she watched him pour tea and drink—somehow displeased mood on his part.
Xie Jingxing hid mood—lips slightly curved yet frightening.
Who had angered him?