Chapter 7

The Dragon Boat Festival is a grand occasion; in the evening, families, regardless of wealth, gather together to share a meal. The two elders of the Cui family, stationed in Yunzhou, could not return home, but had sent festival gifts via their servants days earlier.

Arriving at the eldest son’s residence was a pair of snowy white parrots, their intelligence akin to that of a three-year-old child. They could mimic speech and engage in simple conversations. The eldest son was quite fond of them and had Sangye feed them; they now hung beneath the corridor of the Chengxin Study.

When Yeying heard Baizhu mention them, she was filled with curiosity—parrots that could talk were one thing, but ones that could dialogue? She wondered when she might witness such a marvel with her own eyes.

Little did Yeying know, that very evening, that thought had barely crossed her mind before she saw the extraordinary parrots herself.

Shortly before the hour of the snake, the madam’s nanny came to summon Cui Yuan, saying the eldest lady’s family had arrived.

Cui Yuan nodded. “Please inform Grandmother that I will come after taking my medicine.”

As he spoke, Chongyun brought in the medicine.

Today's dessert was a bowl of something snowy white and tender, somewhat like steamed sweetened curd but without the taste of fermented rice wine. Served in a small black porcelain bowl, its surface bore a wrinkled skin, adorned with a few red beans glazed in honey.

Counting the days since the young kitchen maid's arrival over a fortnight ago, not a single dessert had been repeated.

Cui Yuan finished his medicinal broth, rinsed his mouth with clear tea, then took a spoonful of the white pudding. The first taste revealed the fragrance of fresh milk. Its texture was as soft as tofu pudding, sweet but not cloying. The slightly chewy milk skin was the most delightful part.

Chongyun called it “Double-Skin Milk.” He said that even the imperial chefs inside the palace couldn’t make it.

Chongyun was the youngest in the Bamboo Courtyard. Usually, Cui Yuan was lenient with him, so even when ignored, Chongyun would babble on for a good quarter of an hour without pause.

By now, Cui Yuan was accustomed to having a dessert alongside his medicine each day; in no time, the small bowl was emptied.

The nanny was curious but said nothing then; upon returning, she reported every detail to the matriarch.

Madam Ren was overjoyed at the news.

She immediately sent someone to inquire of the Bamboo Courtyard’s kitchen maid about the recipe for this “Double-Skin Milk.” For tonight’s family feast, this dessert would be added to the menu—it was rare to see her beloved grandson enjoy any delicacy.

The Cui household’s cooks were not fools. After Yeying and the servant woman detailed the recipe, the servant learned it from Lady Yin. By afternoon, the main kitchen had successfully recreated the Double-Skin Milk.

The first to taste it was Madam Ren. “Is this the flavor?”

Madam Cui’s daughter, Madam Ren’s granddaughter, Jiang Liuniang, took quite a liking to it, eating two bowls in a row and even snatching her mother’s portion.

It had been months since Cui Yuan last visited the Bamboo Courtyard, the last time being on Cold Food Festival to pay respects to the old lady, and he had not seen his aunt’s family for several months.

His young cousin brightened at his sight, setting down her bowl with delight. “Cousin!”

She was still a child, innocent and lively. The adults would not burden her with much, so she knew nothing of the troubles around.

This in turn made Cui Yuan breathe a sigh of relief. With Liuniang present, perhaps tonight could be a proper family meal.

He was extremely impatient with being surrounded by tearful lamentations and complaints.

The parrots similar to those from Yunzhou had also been sent by the second master Cui to his niece. Madam Cui was learning from Madam Ren: “They understand human nature and can recite poetry… Ah, that cleverness!”

Jiang Liuniang pestered him to tell what she had taught the parrots: “They can recite ‘The Deer’s Cry’ now. The maid has been teaching them ‘Picking Vetch’ these days. And you, cousin?”

The Bamboo Courtyard had no maid dedicated solely to bird care; Sangye looked after feeding them but had never specifically trained them.

“Liuniang,” Madam Cui said to her daughter after speaking with her mother, then turned to see the girl chattering beside Cui Yuan. She waved her over: “Come, don’t bother your cousin. Let him talk with your father.”

Madam Cui’s husband, Lord Mingxuan, was also part of the imperial faction. He brought the latest news: “Recently, the Duke of England’s household has been searching among the commoners for doctors. Lady He frequently visits the palace—it seems the Empress Dowager’s health is failing. Yet the Imperial Hospital keeps tight-lipped, divulging no details. At court, more officials are petitioning for the establishment of a crown prince.”

The current emperor ascended the throne young. Before his death, the late emperor appointed the Duke of England, the Marquis of Western Pacification, and the Imperial Censor Guo Hong as regents. The Empress Dowager He held power behind the curtain until the emperor reached adulthood. However, the Empress Dowager clung to power, colluding with her cousin, the Duke of England, to consolidate influence and suppress loyal ministers.

The empress’s authority within the palace was also undermined by Consort He.

The empress was from the late Prince Ling’s line, who died young. The consort bore a son. Now the He family is publicly petitioning to appoint Consort He’s adopted son as the heir. Yesterday’s court session lasted an hour and a half, mostly pressuring the emperor to confirm this.

“They are pressing so hard…” Cui Yuan said calmly, “It seems the Empress Dowager’s condition is indeed dire.”

The Cui family were loyal ministers, untainted by the Duke of England’s faction. Another reason they opposed them was suspicion that Cui Yuan’s illness was orchestrated by Lady He.

The imperial heir, the emperor’s own son, and loyal ministers were all threats to their ambitions. Previously, the He family sought to ally through marriage with the Cui family, but both Prime Minister Cui and Cui Yuan himself had coldly refused.

Later, Cui Yuan’s illness bore a striking resemblance to Prince Ling’s past condition. The palace doctors were helpless. The emperor had ordered searches for doctors among the commoners; only Zhang Yan had some slight remedies.

Prince Ling died within a year. Under Zhang Yan’s care, Cui Yuan might still have two or three years left.

Enough time to watch the He family’s downfall.

Enough.

The matriarch’s current wish was for the primary branch to continue its lineage, so the family’s ancestral rites would not cease. Madam Cui’s return to her maternal home today was also per her mother’s wishes—to persuade her nephew together.

At the family feast, Madam Cui’s family of three were joyful and harmonious. On this reunion night, spoiling grandchildren with sweets, even the usually stern old Prime Minister Cui revealed a tender expression.

Madam Ren said to Cui Yuan, “Look at your cousin. You were like this when you were young.”

Cui Yuan could not recall when he last laughed until his belly ached at an unfunny joke. Most vivid in his memory were his grandfather’s back and the ruler in his hand in the study.

For the three- or four-year-old he was then, it was somewhat troubling.

After a while, seeing his lack of response, Madam Ren almost hinted, “Don’t you want to have a child? Whether son or daughter, it’s always good to have someone to cherish beneath your knees.”

Cui Yuan took a bite of the fresh clam from the banquet, prepared with the usual meticulous care of the grand kitchen.

He said quietly, “I am already a sickly remnant, without the strength to raise a child.”

“You should think of your grandfather and me,” sighed Madam Ren, “It was watching you that gave me some comfort, like when your parents were alive.”

“If grandmother feels lonely, she could bring Liuniang home to stay for a while,” Cui Yuan suggested.

Madam Ren paused. “Of the two maids I gave you, don’t you like either one?”

“Yulu is a filial and gentle girl, and quite pretty. Don’t let her always be stuck in the kitchen,” she said, then beckoned back, and the nanny brought forward the carefully dressed Yulu to bow.

Yulu finally saw her long-desired eldest son and scholar ranked third in the imperial examinations.

She observed his expression intently, sneaking glances at her own attire. Today she wore a lovely pink dress with earrings, smiling and poised as the nanny had instructed. Shy and hesitant, yet her heart brimmed with joy.

Seeing Yeying’s bangs, the nanny remarked it was a pity, and chose her to come forward.

Cui Yuan finally looked up at his grandmother, expression calm: “If grandmother favors this maid, how could I deprive you of your love? I will return her to you.”

He then said to Yulu, “You may leave on your own. There is no need to return to the Bamboo Courtyard.”

Yulu’s face immediately turned pale from delicate shyness. “Young master! Young master!”

She crawled two steps but could not reach his robe.

The Cui family’s eldest son, the refined scholar, though angry, was like the bright moon—serene and detached.

Sitting there with a steady expression, his eyes held only indifference.

Yulu was led away by the nanny. Madam Ren sighed, “It is a blessing for the Cui family to have offspring. This is their favor. Why must you be so?”

Cui Yuan felt he indeed needed his grandmother to clarify some things.

“I do not wish my offspring to share my fate—fatherless from youth.”

And how could a concubine-born mother protect her child within the household? He said, “If grandmother insists, then select a son from the clan to adopt, to carry on my lineage.”

Madam Ren naturally refused.

Then he bowed to his grandmother, Minister Cui, and Madam Cui’s family before taking his leave.

Cut off from the lively gathering behind him, walking alone through the courtyard, even the most steadfast heart would ripple.

When he first entered the National University, jealous noble scions who disagreed with the Cui family’s politics mocked his background, accompanied by their servants.

At that time, under Minister Cui’s guidance, Cui Yuan said nothing, but he cared deeply. How could he let his own children endure such a life?

His grandfather was strict but excellent, molding Cui Yuan into who he was today. His grandmother loved him far more than his cousins.

Yet he still recalled the joyful festivals, his aunt and uncle’s marital bliss, and his uncle’s family’s happiness.

After the feast, he was left with only an empty courtyard.

He loathed holidays.

He slowly returned to the Bamboo Courtyard. The stone path winding toward the bamboo grove was brushed by a cool night breeze, carrying scattered laughter.

Inside, the lights blazed bright. Outside the kitchen was a large table where Baizhu, Sangye, Cangwu, and Chongyun were gathered. How could it be lonely?

They all sat around sharing from one pot, surprised to see him return early.

Baizhu was quickest to react, setting down her chopsticks. “Young master is back? Shall you bathe first?”

From three steps away, Cui Yuan caught a strong spicy scent on her and frowned. “What’s that smell?”

On a grand festival, Baizhu was eating hotpot with them.

This “hotpot” was rather unrefined yet utterly addictive.

Baizhu indulged freely, her mouth and stomach pleased, but she reeked and could not serve the young master properly.

She glanced guiltily at his expression, heart tightening. His face was cold and dark, seeming to have parted unhappily with Madam Ren and the others.

That made sense—if the talk had been pleasant, he wouldn’t have returned so early.

Baizhu pulled Yeying aside. “Is there any kind of hotpot suitable for the young master?”

“There is.” Yeying nodded. “The kitchen has a clear broth. We can make a plain soup hotpot.”

So while Cui Yuan bathed, Baizhu and Yeying prepared the pot and arranged vegetables and meat in the Chengxin Study.

There, beneath the corridor, Yeying saw the pair of white parrots again.

“Truly clever,” she praised.

It was her first time stepping into the inner courtyard; it felt quieter than outside, yet the view was far more open—such a magical design.

The bamboo grove stirred in the breeze. Inside, a qin sat ready. The rear window overlooked water.

The scent of seven-colored incense soothed the soul.

“Does the young master play the qin regularly?”

She had heard the qin playing every morning recently and thought it must be the eldest son.

The music was beautiful, like a clear spring flowing slowly, calming the summer heat in her heart.

Hearing this, Baizhu asked in surprise, “You know the qin? Have you studied it?”

“Our village teacher has one and treasures it. I begged to hear him play a few times, but only learned a bit of the basics,” Yeying said, eyes full of admiration. “The young master plays much better than the village teacher.”

“Of course,” Baizhu said. “He’s been learning since he was a toddler. He has seven qins. Our lady’s talent and diligence all lie here—how could ordinary people compare?”

But suddenly, Yeying’s eyes flickered, and she stopped hearing Baizhu’s words.

A familiar, cold voice sounded: “What is on the table?”

Baizhu turned. Her young master, now dressed in white robes, stood behind the screen, framed by an artistic ancient pine painting—the breeze and moonlight like a celestial exile.

His robe was half open, revealing a clear clavicle in the summer night breeze. Damp hair tips fluttered, as if a figure from a painting.

Yeying’s eyes widened.

Cui Yuan’s gaze met hers. “Why do you not speak?”

Baizhu opened her mouth, wanting Yeying to show herself before the young master, but then closed it.

Yeying snapped back to herself, mortified. Was it really necessary? It was only showing a bit of collarbone, yet she felt she had disgraced the 21st century.

She lowered her head quickly and explained the hotpot etiquette to him. “You can cook various meats and vegetables together or just one kind at a time, like Bo Xia Gong’s style.”

Cui Yuan nodded and sat down. “Let’s try this lamb you mentioned.”

Yeying hesitated, glanced at Baizhu, who gave her an encouraging look.

Reluctantly, she began to dip various meats and vegetables in the pot for him.

Tender lamb, thin fish slices, chicken meatballs, aged tofu... After eating until about sixty percent full, Cui Yuan raised his hand—

Yeying paused, awaiting instruction.

He gently tapped the table. “Sit.”

Baizhu sensed he had something to say and left them to it.

Through the curling white steam, Yeying could barely discern his expression, but her gaze lingered on the rosy lips of the scholar behind the meal.

So beautiful.

Neither thick nor thin, red lips and white teeth.

“You should know, my lifespan is within these two years,” he said slowly, his tone so calm it was as if speaking of someone else.

Yeying’s heart suddenly skipped a beat.

“No matter what grandmother has told you, or what you think in your heart, I only hold to ‘fate in coincidence, not in will.’”

His cold and sharp gaze met hers.

“Today, I sent Yulu back to the main residence.”

He stared at her for a moment. Her eyes remained cast downward, clearly anxious.

Cui Yuan continued, “I am not a lenient lord. The Bamboo Courtyard cannot tolerate divided hearts. You do not have one. Good.”

Yeying lowered her head, thinking: does this mean I have passed some kind of test?

There was no time to pity Yulu, for Cui Yuan was not done speaking.

He glanced at her heavy bangs, harboring a suspicion.

“Lift your head, push your fringe aside.”

Yeying bit her lip and nervously complied.

Indeed, when the stiff fringe was lifted, it was like clouds parting to reveal the moon.

The young woman was graceful; her brows like tender spring willows, her eyes like bright autumn waters.

A faint sigh seemed to escape, then he said, “I have no intention of holding others back. I will return your service contract and give you some silver. If you wish to go home, take it as travel expenses. If you wish to marry, Lingxiao can find you a suitable match.”

His features were as smooth as jade, his tone gentle and considerate.

Yeying suddenly understood why Baizhu and the others served him so devotedly, giving body and soul.

He was like the pine wind and bamboo rain, a gentleman like an orchid.

She had even prepared herself to be returned to Madam Ren or the nanny, but this surprise struck her senseless.

A genuine smile appeared in her eyes. “Thank you, young master.”

A man who claimed to be “not lenient” thought and acted only kindly.

A truly upright and pure gentleman.

Serving under him brought no loss of dignity.

Yeying raised her eyes to meet his. “I am willing to stay in the Bamboo Courtyard, to see things through, and then return home.”

Her gaze was clear and sincere.

The thick broth in the pot simmered. Cui Yuan picked up a wafer-thin slice of lamb, dipped it in sesame sauce—the rich aroma lingering on his tongue.

Truly better than the grand kitchen’s.

Cui Yuan thought, if she left now, he might find it hard to eat the grand kitchen’s food ever again.

When did he become as fond of delicacies as Chongyun?

He smiled faintly. “Very well.”