Chapter 18

Though his words were stern, Cui Yuan’s expression was relaxed, his tone almost gentle, clearly merely teasing the two young attendants. Ye Ying naturally did not take it seriously. Having served in the Bamboo Garden for so long, she had come to understand something of Cui Yuan’s nature.

The eldest young master appeared cold on the surface, but his heart was truly kind.

He was strict yet nurturing with the two attendants.

At their age, boys are often unruly and troublesome, but Chong Yun and Cang Wu were neither mischievous nor dull. Unlike other attendants who lost their individuality at such a young age, these two were lively and clever.

Sometimes Ye Ying wondered if the eldest young master’s strictness toward them, coupled with his relative leniency, was a way of comforting the small, lonely child he once was.

Recently, Su He had shared many old stories about the eldest young master. Most of them centered on how, while still a child too young to be without a nursemaid, he had lost both parents and thereafter lived with Prime Minister Cui.

Prime Minister Cui was a stern and disciplined man, burdened with numerous official duties, leaving early each day before dawn. At just four years old, the eldest young master followed his rigorous schedule—rising at cockcrow to study and practice calligraphy before attending school—with no nursemaid or young relatives to tend to him.

Prime Minister Cui’s strictness was typical of a conservative scholar-official. No wonder the eldest young master often seemed aloof and distant, enveloped in an aura that kept strangers at bay.

Surely, beneath the surface, he harbored some grievances and loneliness.

Perhaps, once given authority over his attendants, he treated them as he once wished to be treated—imposing discipline but also granting them some leniency to preserve their childhood innocence.

Ye Ying’s empathy was what made her so likable.

Just as she had initially made snacks for the young master out of shared suffering, hoping to ease the bitterness of his medicine, and cared gently for Yulu, whose temperament was prone to overthinking, her nature was soft and tender.

Such softness made her feelings transparent. With a perceptive heart that saw through to the core, she was never mistaken for being reserved or inscrutable.

Cui Yuan was highly sensitive to emotions. “What is it?”

Ye Ying smiled, pressing her lips together. “Though you complain about the two young masters, you actually care for them deeply, don’t you?”

“Just the other day, Chong Yun secretly ate a sweet osmanthus cake, and I pretended not to notice.”

Cui Yuan’s lips twitched. “Childishness, nothing more.”

See? A subtle tenderness flickered in Ye Ying’s eyes. “I knew you’d say that.”

Because they were young, he believed everything could be patiently taught—this was always his view.

Ling Xiao, Bai Shu, and Sang Ye were all too young when they were with him. He could not protect them and had punished them severely on several occasions.

This was something he regretted deeply.

Ye Ying sighed. “You really do like children, don’t you?”

Cui Yuan did not think so.

He was even curious why she would say that. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you teach them so well.”

Teach them—that counted as liking, did it? Cui Yuan smiled softly, his brow gentle.

Suddenly, both he and Ye Ying shared the same thought.

The awkwardness spread.

Ye Ying hastily banished the chaotic idea and cleared her throat. “Go to bed early, Young Master. You have to rise early tomorrow.”

The night was long and wakefulness unbearable. Cui Yuan lay back down, listening to the rustling sounds outside until the last lamp was extinguished, signaling that she too was asleep.

He closed his eyes.

This time, he fell asleep quickly and even dreamed.

In the dream, he returned to his youth: passing the imperial examination as the third-ranking scholar, the mansion festively decorated with lanterns—truly a joyous occasion.

In the blink of an eye, he had children—twins with his own mouth and familiar eyebrows. Yuxue was adorable, obedient, and beloved.

A happy life, good health—such a beautiful dream.

Only the new wife’s silhouette was vague, and upon waking, he could not discern who she was.

The next day dawned bright and clear. Sunlight filtered through the room, scattering light and shadow.

After changing clothes and shoes, Sang Ye entered to hang the curtains, beaming. “Young Master slept very soundly last night—fully four hours.”

She did not know that the two had lain awake, chatting for nearly half an hour.

When she came to change the lamp later, both were sound asleep, especially Ying’er, whose legs were kicked out, the thin blanket tossed aside—without a care for proper sleeping posture.

Up late today, they had no other amusement. After sitting in meditation, the meal was laid out.

At first glance, a stack of thin white pancakes accompanied by a variety of rich yet homely stir-fried dishes: bean sprouts, eggs, shredded tofu, summer-pickled sour vegetables with shredded meat—an array dazzling to the eye.

Before even smelling the aroma, one’s appetite was fully awakened.

The flavors were just as Cui Yuan had imagined: the pancake thin, soft, and chewy; the stir-fries richly seasoned; eaten like spring rolls; washed down with plain congee to balance the saltiness. The vinegary cucumber was refreshingly crisp.

Chewing thoughtfully, Cui Yuan recalled her words from last night and believed she truly put heart into every meal.

If he failed to finish it, wouldn’t that be a betrayal of her effort?

“Why are the dishes so clean today?” Ye Ying was surprised.

She had made quite a lot, tempted by her own appetite, and unwittingly prepared seven or eight small stir-fries. Wrapped in pancakes, they smelled wonderful.

What could suit the young master’s palate so well? Spring pancakes? Vinegary cucumbers?

...Could it be the plain congee?

Su He said, “Don’t think about it. I’ll clean up. You should rest and attend to your duties.”

Ye Ying laughed, removing her apron. “Thank you. I’ll save you some snacks this afternoon.”

In the kitchen, this was a small privilege—she could taste delicate dishes first.

By then, the young master was practicing martial arts in the open space behind the house.

His movements were slow but fluid, like flowing clouds and water. Clad in a white robe for morning exercise, he exuded a sense of ethereal grace.

Ye Ying watched with fascination.

After completing two sets of forms, Cui Yuan stopped himself with restraint. Though he felt capable of more, he was always a patient who followed medical advice and refused to be recklessly confident or trouble his doctors.

Slightly perspiring, he approached and took a sweat cloth from Ye Ying’s hand.

Their hands touched—warm this time.

Once before, he had brushed her hand while delivering snacks—a swift, fleeting touch on a summer afternoon—then his hand had been cool.

Ye Ying’s heart stirred. Looking up as she handed him the cloth, she saw his cheeks flushed with the glow of health after exercise.

She harbored no improper thoughts, only a feeling that, in this moment, the scholar ranked third in the imperial exams was truly alive.

Never before had she seen such a “living” scholar.

Smiling, she said, “I didn’t expect the young master’s literary grace to extend to such fine martial arts.”

Her flattery was obvious, and Cui Yuan sipped his tea with a slight smile. “The gentleman’s six arts are no empty talk.”

“To nurture the son of the nation according to the Way, one teaches the six arts: rites, music, archery, charioteering, calligraphy, and arithmetic.”

In truth, many scholar-officials practiced martial arts; in recent decades, swordsmanship had become increasingly popular among literati.

“Do you also know swordsmanship, Young Master?” Ye Ying asked curiously.

A soft sword lay nearby. After a moment’s thought, Cui Yuan moved swiftly.

His swordplay shimmered with cold light, the sunlight reflecting off the blade in a dazzling display. A gleaming arc of white light appeared, elusive in form, but wherever the sword swept, sword energy sliced leaves from the trees, fluttering like an invisible breeze.

Ye Ying was stunned.

As the saying goes: “One sword chills fourteen provinces.”

Cui Yuan sheathed the sword, holding it behind his back with his right hand.

Turning, he saw her eager expression.

“Want to learn?”

Ye Ying’s heart pounded. “C-Can I?”

Wow! She truly wanted to learn—not for livelihood, not for future plans, but simply because it was impressive and she liked it. This was pure passion.

Cui Yuan’s lips curved slightly. “No.”

Ye Ying’s heart, still racing, instantly froze and fell to the depths.

Such was the height of hope, such was the depth of disappointment.

Cui Yuan found her sudden change amusing. “Impatience. This touches on the six emotions. Did I say I wouldn’t teach?”

“The swordplay just now was too difficult for you.” Sitting back down, he sipped his tea. The previous cup had cooled, so he brewed a fresh one. “You have no foundation—you must start from the basics.”

The fragrance of tea spread richly, steam rising.

“First, learn the horse stance,” he said slowly. “In time...”

It seemed hope was rekindled.

She knew the eldest young master taught all equally and was patient with those eager to learn.

Would she really learn swordsmanship from him one day?

Ye Ying smiled, feeling this servant’s life was well worth it.

Yet she did not expect to hear him say, “In time, I’ll find you a proper master.”

Martial arts was a gradual discipline. Even the shortest path to some proficiency required four or five years.

Four or five years... she would be a young woman blossoming into maturity by then.

He stroked his teacup, unaware that upon hearing those words, the young girl behind him hesitated for a moment, her once-bright eyes dimming with each syllable.

She understood...

He could not teach her—not out of stinginess.

Ye Ying blinked gently, suddenly longing to tilt her head back and look up.